


Gentleman Lumberjack

by Celine_Lister, shinyhuman



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/F, Fluff, Lumberjack AU, Slow Burn, angst? don't know her, ish, lumberjack!Anne, waitress!Ann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celine_Lister/pseuds/Celine_Lister, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyhuman/pseuds/shinyhuman
Summary: Ann Walker is three things: good at her job—almost too good, if their patrons’ friendliness is anything to go by—lonely for yet another holiday season, and enraptured by a local lumberjack who delivers firewood to the Walker family diner. Anne Lister is struggling  to keep her burgeoning business afloat—no thanks to her incompetent, if tender-hearted sister—but the one bright light is a shy, caring waitress at the local diner. Their conversations flourish into something greater, and soon it’s not just the hearth keeping them warm this Christmas.Tl;dr: A soft, tender, sexy Christmas romance.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 98
Kudos: 210





	1. 1

Ann loved snow. Despite the less-than-enthusiastic attitude of the news anchor giving the hourly weather report on television, Ann hummed with excitement while big, fluffy snowflakes twirled to the ground outside. She leaned on the diner counter, just watching. The beauty of it all struck her with spreading calm—she could almost taste cinnamon on her tongue, smell her mother’s freshly-baked biscuits and cakes, and hear the gentle undercurrent of Christmas music under the warm chatter of the restaurant. 

The Walker Family Diner was the perfect place to be when the weather turned cold and snowy. The large fireplace at the center of the restaurant was like a monument, if a little diner could have such a thing. When Ann was a child, she swore it was the source of coziness in the world. She always felt warmer beside it, even before they turned it on in the mornings. Here, Christmas was wonderful—in a real way, when she was a kid, and now, from the memory of it.

“Ann, could you take table four’s order, please? They set down their menus five minutes ago,” Elizabeth said, jolting Ann from her tranquility. 

“Yes, sorry, it’s just—the snow is so pretty. Always enchanting, don’t you think? I want to run outside and ruin the newness of it all,” Ann said dreamily.

“Sure, on your break, if you want, but now could you—please?” Elizabeth pressed.

Her sister was kind and patient with her, but always exhausted, and that put an edge in her tone where Ann knew there was none. Between raising her children, her exhausting husband, and running the Walker family restaurant, Elizabeth rarely took a minute for herself alone. Ann wasn’t envious of her. She did what she asked, and always with a grin on her face.

“Of course,” Ann said.

Just as she scampered away, Elizabeth caught her arm. “And after—sorry, I know I just told you to go, but after—the shipment of firewood just came in, they’re waiting out back, could you get that too, please?”

“Mhmm,” Ann hummed agreeably. Somehow, as her sister’s mood soured, Ann gained the ability to wick away her sharpness like rain. 

Despite waiting longer than expected, the patrons—a family with two darling little ones that entertained their parents more than the coloring sheet entertained them—seemed in good spirits. Ann took their order, delivered the slip to the cook, and plucked the trash from the kitchen on her way to pick up the wood. She whistled a pop song on the way, but only remembered the bridge, and sang the same small bit over and over.

“You’re good at that,” a woman called. She had a low, scratchy voice Ann didn’t recognize. “What’s the tune?”

Ann blushed, whipping around like she’d been caught doing something inappropriate. The retort she half-brewed in her brain caught in her throat when she saw the owner of the voice.

Standing beside a pallet of firewood, a tall brunette woman smirked at her. A warm red flannel collar peeked out of her work coat. A coat that had—very conveniently— _ Shibden Lumber Co _ embroidered on the chest like a badge. 

_ Oh. Perfect _ , Ann thought while she choked on her own spit in front of someone Elizabeth probably wanted them to have a professional relationship with.

Satisfied with herself, the woman hoisted six bundles of wood from a pallet at once, three under each arm. She was handsome and rugged, the bed of her truck full of sawdust-crusted tools, and her hair roughly braided over her shoulder, flyaway strands catching in her eyelashes and the corner of her lip. She was used to hard work—wind reddened her cheeks, but she stood steadfast in the cold, as though it didn’t bother her at all; if that hardiness wasn’t enough, years of use wore her leather gloves and boots thin. 

Ann wandered over. When she was finished, the woman clapped her hands clean, and turned to Ann with a wide grin. Her eyes were a warm brown, her pupils surrounded by a ring of gold, like she’d peered into the sun too many times. 

“Sorry, I—I don’t know what happened. I think I swallowed something, or—something,” Ann explained, catching her breath. Then, breathlessly, she added, “I’m Ann. Walker. I, um, I can take in the shipment of firewood, thanks.”

The woman chuckled, then offered her gloved hand. She said, “I’m Anne Lister. Shibden Lumber is my little operation.”

Ann took it, melting at her large, warm hand and the wear of the leather. She forgot to shake until Anne started the motion. A blush crept up her cheeks—oh, she was always so  _ obvious _ . Embarrassing! Anne probably thought she was interested—or maybe she didn’t—but if she did, she’d have to explain that she was just looking, but not  _ looking _ , because she—

_ Ugh _ . Why did she always have to make a mess of everything?

“I’ve, um, never seen you before,” Ann mumbled in lieu of a real explanation, looking up shyly at Anne through her lashes.

Ann hadn’t  _ meant _ to flirt with her—flirting on command was impossible, actually, because the effort of it always made her look like a fool—but it seemed to have an immediate effect on the woman. Anne shifted, leaning against the frame with one muscled arm, towering over her. They were so close Ann noticed the thickness of her flannel and longed to press her face against it. She breathed deeply, desperate to know what she smelled like—like pine, warm and sharp? Or something more floral, a myriad of sensations in one scent?

“Yes, we’re a bit short-staffed, so I’m running out the Wednesday orders. My hiring manager is incompetent,” Anne explained, her lip curling. “She has a soft heart, and hires men to work for me regardless of their physical qualifications. Old men, young, sickly-thin men—we’ve had a number of health complications because no one realizes how arduous logging can be.”

Ann willed herself not to stare blatantly at Anne’s thick arms. She could  _ bet _ it was arduous.

“Sounds like a real problem,” Ann offered. Lord, why was it so hard to  _ think  _ around her?

“You have no idea. I can’t fire her—she’s my sister. My father would have a fit,” Anne said.

“Mmm, I’m sure my sister feels similarly about me,” Ann said, chuckling.

“You? I can’t imagine how anyone could be frustrated with a walking ray of sunshine,” Anne murmured. “Unless you actively attempt to destroy your sister’s business, regardless of how many arguments you have on the topic.”

“Oh, um, no, I don’t think so,” Ann said. 

“Precisely,” Anne agreed. Then she sighed, her whole body softening. “I apologize for my rotten mood. Between work, the holidays, and Mar—my personal life, I’m stretched a bit thin. I usually do better about reigning it all in.”

Vulnerability in a stranger was a curious thing. What others might describe as unprofessional or rude, Ann saw rawness and the need for a kind ear. She didn’t always give it, obviously—if she listened to the misfortune of every unhappy customer, she’d never get anything done, and Elizabeth would truly reprimand her. Anne was an exception. The ability to memorize the curl of dark hair peeking out from behind her ear was worth any tongue lashing her sister could conceive.

“That’s all right,” Ann said. Her teeth chattered.

“You’re cold,” Anne observed.

“I—ha, yes, I suppose I am,” Ann said, giggling. She hugged herself, something she usually did when she was nervous, but that had the wonderful side effect of keeping her warm. “I, um, I shouldn’t keep you anymore.”

“It was nice to meet you, Miss Walker,” Anne said.

“Ann,” Ann corrected shyly. “And thank you. You should, um, stop in for a little breakfast next time. Where it’s not so cold.”

“I will,” Anne promised, walking backward toward her truck. 

Ann waved goodbye—a stupid and childlike thing to do, she realized—and Anne waved back. A smirk cut her cheek as she pulled out of the parking lot, and Ann could have sworn she winked.

Ann waited until the sound of Anne’s motor faded before she hefted the first load of firewood inside. Good thing, too—the idea of that strong, handsome woman witnessing Ann wheezing and groaning while carrying two pitiful bundles of logs inside horrified her. Watching the cooks bite their lips to stifle their laughter while she stumbled through the kitchen was bad enough.

Elizabeth waited for her at the hearth near the front of the diner with her hands on her hips.

“That took you long enough,” she scolded gently. “What happened?”

“Oh, the, um, delivery woman was really talkative,” Ann explained.

“Uh huh. You look pleased with yourself,” Elizabeth observed, raising an eyebrow.

“She was also, uh, very nice,” Ann said, blushing.

“Right,” Elizabeth said with a roll of her eyes. “Let me guess. She’s tall and got dark hair.” 

Ann sputtered, trying to defend herself. 

Elizabeth grinned and added, “Don’t get any ideas. A rough woman like that? She’ll break your heart, no doubt. Trust your elder sister on this one.”

The fury of the kitchen swept Elizabeth away before Ann could ask for an explanation. Shaking her head, Ann tried to rid her mind of those questions. Still, the softness of those dark eyes and the warmth of that gloved hand lingered; Ann found herself humming that same, silly pop song all afternoon and into the night. Only six more days until the next delivery. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not that Ann was  _ excited _ for the wood delivery. That wasn’t - that wasn’t what had opened her eyes this morning, set her heart racing, sent her tumbling out of bed before her alarm at all. She was just looking forward to Wednesday. She simply liked Wednesdays, always had done. Middle of the week. Two days down, two more to go. No lonely weekend staring her down, reminding her of her essential aloneness. Wednesdays were lovely. Plenty of business at the diner, a nice frost on the ground, and that fascinating lady from the lumber yard was coming by. Ann couldn’t stop smiling.

They were slammed all morning. Busier than usual, which was actually something of a relief. At least this way Ann couldn’t count the moments until Shibden Logging Company’s truck pulled up. The diner was humming, and Ann was moving with the confidence and sense of purpose that only came from her work here. Aunt Ann would say it was below her, but Ann  _ adored _ taking orders, running tables, making jokes, assessing needs. There was no time to think, no time to worry like she always did; when she was working, Ann was finally free. As it turned out, she was engrossed in a conversation about oil paints with one of her regulars when she heard a familiar, low voice.

“Miss Walker, I’ve got a delivery for you.”

Ann gasped softly and turned on her heel—there she was. Anne Lister, in that well-worn work jacket, those scuffed boots, a thick jumper and faded flannel peeking out; her smile was so large and genuine, and her eyes sparkled in the warm light of the restaurant. Ann’s heart skipped a beat. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Miss Lister,” she said hurriedly. “Thank you so much.” 

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Anne?” 

“I remember telling you the same thing,” Ann answered cheekily, surprised by her own wit. 

Anne’s lips parted, her eyes dancing as if she were trying to follow Ann’s game. Had Ann been unclear? Her face colored. Why had she  _ said _ that? Why was she cracking jokes with this near-stranger? Anne would think her terribly rude, wouldn’t she? The words spilled out before Ann could stop them.

“Just because—well, you know, we—”

“Right,” Anne said kindly, but Ann couldn’t stop.

“Have the same—”

“Right.” Anne was grinning widely now, nodding slowly.

“Name.”

“Right.”

Ann covered her face in her hands, willing time to go back about five minutes. Hell, go back thirty years and let Ann start this whole life over. Why was she cursed with such awkwardness? Couldn’t she have a  _ normal _ conversation for once? Of course not. Not with the most stunning woman she’d ever—oh, best not think about that now.

“The pallet?” Anne asked, a gentle hand on Ann’s elbow. 

Ann pulled her hands from her face—Anne smiled at her, broad and kind, almost pitying. Ann’s chest ached—how did this woman have the power to make her feel calm and excited all at once? She shook her head, shook the feelings and confusion away.

“On the side.” Ann pointed to the spot near the fireplace where they kept the wood. “If you don’t mind.”

“No trouble.” Anne squeezed her forearm. “Back in a tick.”

***

What in the  _ hell _ was she doing? Anne  _ never  _ carted wood directly into establishments. This was something for Washington, Pickles, somebody other than her. What was it about that young woman? Anne hefted part of the pallet onto her shoulder; this would take at least three trips. She cursed under her breath, annoyance bubbling in her chest as she trundled into the diner. 

Then Ann smiled at her. She was the sun itself—that blonde hair and pale skin and the twinkling blue eyes. Her slender frame, covered in that utilitarian apron, entranced Anne; if she’d been someone else, Anne might have seduced her. Not this one though. Too pure. Too kind and young and fragile. Ann giggled at something a customer said, and Anne nearly tripped over her own boots. 

It took her three trips, but Anne wished it took longer. She’d carry wood forever, if it meant she could stay in this diner that long. It was warm and loud and friendly—everything that the drafty warehouse of Shibden Logging Co. lacked. She set down the last few logs and knelt at the fireplace; it was cold outside, and a fire would add a bit of ambiance. In just a few moments, she had a small blaze started. She stared at the flames for a long moment, losing herself in the bustle of the diner, the warmth of the world surrounding her.

“Thank you,” a soft voice said; Anne turned to find Ann standing over her. “I never know how to keep it going.”

“Nothing to it,” Anne said, standing and wiping her hands on her trousers. “Just a little care and attention, and I can get just about anything burning.”

***

_ I’m sure you can _ , Ann thought despite herself; something about this lumberjack made her wild. She never had these kinds of thoughts, not on her own. Anne stood—good  _ Lord _ , she was tall—and smiled at her. She wasn’t leaving, wasn’t she? Ann couldn’t stand it. She spoke without thinking.

“Stay! Uh—er, have breakfast. Let me—ah, thank you. For the fire.”

Anne hesitated, and Ann’s heart sank. Of course, she had to go. She was properly busy and important; people expected her. She didn’t have all morning to brighten up Ann’s life. Ann had been lucky to get as much of her attention as she had. She sighed and looked away, but then Anne clicked her tongue.

“Alright. What do you suggest?”

“Yeah?” Ann could feel her entire face brightening. “Uh—um, pancakes! Pancakes and bacon and eggs. You’ve got to keep those muscles strong.”

“Have I?” Anne asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh, uh, I—”  _ Why _ had she said that? Ann could smack herself. “I just—”

“Thank you, Miss Walker,” Anne purred. “I can’t wait to taste,” she paused, “what you’re serving.”

Now  _ that.  _ Ann turned away with a flushed, helpless giggle. She rushed into the kitchen, the steamy room masking her pink cheeks. Surely, Anne Lister didn’t mean—no, just a slip of the tongue. Oh, God, even  _ that.  _ Ann’s heart raced, threatening to beat out of her chest. One of the cooks looked at her expectantly, and Ann managed to pass off the order. She swept out of the kitchen, needing something to focus her attention.

Luckily, the diner always provided ample distraction. Ann was swept into refilling drinks, seating groups, busing tables. By the time the pancakes were ready, she’d almost forgotten her earlier embarrassment.

Almost.

Anne lounged in a booth, one long arm draped along the back of the seat; she was speaking rather frankly with a man Ann didn’t recognize at first. Then, she saw—oh,  _ God _ , was that her cousin Jeremiah? Ann bit her lip and carried the tray of food closer. 

“I asked a number of people who bought it from you. No one said seven.”

“Well,” Jeremiah started, “some we sell at eight, but—”

“So! I’m reliably informed that the cost of getting and hurrying—ah!” She smiled widely at Ann’s approach. “You’ll excuse me; your lovely cousin has insisted I sample her pancakes, and I never do business while I eat.”

“Well, I—” Jeremiah stammered.

“Thank you, Mr. Rawson, but I simply  _ must _ speak with Miss Walker.”

“Ann,” she said, setting the plates in front of Anne. “I don’t want to tell you again.”

“See?” Anne chuckled. “You’re embarrassing me in front of a pretty girl. I’ll call you this afternoon, eh?”

Jeremiah opened his mouth, looked at Ann, then shook his head and left. Anne laughed uproariously as the door closed.

“Have you ever seen a grown man with his tail between his legs? What a sight.”

Ann hummed and made to move away, but Anne’s strong hand caught her wrist.

“I was serious,” Anne said softly, “about wanting to speak to you. If you don’t mind.”

All thought and breath left Ann’s body as she sank down into the booth across from quite possibly the most attractive woman she’d ever seen. She was sure her eyes were as wide as the flapjacks on Anne’s plate. How in the world was she meant to carry on a conversation with this goddess?

“You’ve already brought syrup,” Anne said appreciatively. “Good girl.”

Forget carrying on, Ann wasn’t quite sure she would  _ survive. _

“You must have a rather poor opinion of me,” Anne said sheepishly; “I’m not always very kind to your cousins.”

“Hardly,” Ann said, fiddling the roll of silverware on the table. “They’re not especially kind to me either.”

“No?” Anne was so serious, even with a strip of bacon hovering outside her mouth.

“No,” Ann chuckled in embarrassment, “I’m the family fuck-up, don’t you know? An invalid, a child, a—” she looked down, shaking her head. “Anyway.”

“Hey.” Anne’s voice was impossibly gentle; for some reason, it made Ann feel like crying. Her broad, calloused hand laid over Ann’s, stilling her nervous movement. “You seem perfectly capable of running this place.” She moved her eyes meaningfully to the diner. “I haven’t seen a single displeased face. Nothing but full bellies and smiles leaving here.”

Ann bit her lip, nodded, shook her head. Did she agree? Was she embarrassed? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was the electricity coursing from Anne’s rough hand to her own.

“Oh! It’s, um, my sister mostly, but—t-thank you,” Ann said quietly. Anne pulled her hand away, slowly, as if she didn’t want to spook her. “I’m sorry they’re so rough with you. I don’t know why they’re so mean.”

“Oh, nothing I can’t handle,” Anne said loftily, tearing into the food in front of her. “Jeremiah couldn’t knock the skin off a pudding.”

Ann giggled, and then they were off. Ann couldn’t say she followed everything Anne said, all her massive plans and square acres and lofty dreams. She was more focused on the way Anne’s hands moved, the fire in her eyes, the excitement in her voice as she drew the future in the air. Ann wasn’t sure exactly what she was saying, but she was certain she had never been so enraptured.

Not to mention, of course, the way Anne  _ ate. _ The flash of her white teeth, the glimpse of that pink tongue—Ann wasn’t quite sure why it made her salivate. The curl of her fingers around the utensils—her hands certainly were… big. Ann kept having to remind herself to be polite, to look Anne in the eye, but that was even worse. Those deep, dark eyes—Ann could drown in them, she knew she could. What in the world was going on with her?

“Big plans for Friday?” Anne asked, leaning back from the table and fixing Ann with an appraising gaze.

“Oh, uh - no,” Ann said quickly. “My sister is—well, she’s got her own family now. I haven’t got anyone else, not really. Just me and the telly.”

“Surely a girl like you has plans on the weekend” Anne asked, her eyes dancing with mischief. 

“I—uh, well.” There were no thoughts in Ann’s brain, just a loud alarm blaring. “I suppose. Sometimes.”

“Good girl.” 

Anne grinned, reaching for her wallet. Ann spoke quickly.

“No, no, no! This is my treat. You’ve been so kind to me today, and - I’ve had a lovely morning with you. I can’t remember the last time I spent such a pleasant morning. 

Anne gave her a curious look, then a smile, then a squeeze of the hand. Just like that, she was gone.

***

Anne trotted outside, the winter sun warm on her face. She felt rather pleased with herself. A delightful morning and conversation with a very interesting girl. A free breakfast to boot. She climbed in the truck and started the engine. 

Hold on.

Had she really just said “good girl” to that waitress? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Sending lots of strength and a speedy recovery to our Sophie ❤️
> 
> What do we think? Shall we continue with these two?


	3. 3

The breakfast rush came and went, and the Shibden Logging Company truck never arrived. Worst case scenario after worst case scenario flitted through Ann’s mind: the first was that Anne was dead, the pressure of the season finally wearing her down until a giant tree fell wrong and crushed her; or, perhaps, her car veered off the icy road, down a massive cliff, and into the hungry ocean; maybe Anne was finally sick of her, and moved their delivery day to later in the week so someone else could deal with her annoying chatter. The possibilities worried her enough that Ann thought she might burst.

“Why do you think they haven’t come yet?” Ann blurted to Elizabeth.

Without looking up from the register, Elizabeth said, “Who?” 

Ann clicked her tongue. “The  _ firewood people _ . They’re always here by now.”

“I don’t know. It’s nearly Christmas, maybe they’re busy and running late,” Elizabeth said, as if the well-being of their driver didn’t matter at all. 

Ann huffed, wiping the clean counter with a rag to get rid of her nervous energy. Was Anne okay? What if she—

“If it bothers you, you could call them, you know. See if the delivery is just running late. I have their number in the back room,” Elizabeth suggested. 

“Um—” Ann wanted to refuse, say she didn’t need that kind of reassurance, she wasn’t worried or anything, it was going to be fine, but the prospect of knowing Anne was okay in less than five minutes won her over. “Sure. Okay. Thanks.”

Someday, Ann was going to clean the back room. When her father ran the restaurant, it was part janitor’s closet, part office, and part storage room. One giant gym locker next to the door held every important phone number for the business on worn post-it notes that were doubly fastened with magnets. Ann offered to transfer them all to a spreadsheet, but Elizabeth scoffed like she had suggested murder. Ending the quickest argument they’d ever had, Elizabeth said, “They’re in  _ his writing _ .”

So Ann squinted at her father’s blocky numbers written with faded blue ink, entirely guessing if the last two digits were 4s or 9s. The phone dialed, and she held her breath.

“Shibden Logging Company. This is Marian. What can I do for you?”

Ann exhaled. She said, “Hi. Um, this is—I’m calling from the Walker Family Diner, I don’t mean to be a bother, but I noticed your driver hasn’t arrived yet, and—"

“Oh! Yes, I’m so sorry, I meant to call. We’re terribly behind in shipments, as we’ve had one of our other drivers fall ill. We’ll be able to deliver later in the week on Friday, if that’s okay? Again, sorry, we’re terribly behind. I’m sure we can arrange for it to be delivered today, if it’s really—”

“Oh I’d hate to—to burden you like that. I could come by and pick it up, if it’s easier for you? We’re very slow in the afternoons, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Ann offered.

“That’s—sure, that’s fine! I’ll let the boys know. You’ll just need to—hang on—” Marian said, then spoke with someone else. Ann tried to listen but heard only muffled voices and the scraping of pen on paper. “Sorry, hello, all you need to do is park near the warehouse and come into the office to let me know you’re here.”

“Okay, thank you,” Ann said. She wondered if she should hang up the phone, and then the call ended with a click.

Anne was safe. The relief lasted for only a minute before embarrassment set in. Ann felt ridiculous, worrying about her, when she was obviously okay. Elizabeth would tease her endlessly. Ann snuck in the kitchen to grab her coat before her sister could corner her. 

On her way out of the door, Elizabeth called, “Where you going?”

“To get the firewood!” Ann replied, with no further explanation.

***

Without the GPS on her phone, Ann would be fully lost. Mountains of endless white on either side of the road and the thick, opaque ice coating the asphalt glued her hands to the steering wheel and her eyes straight in front of her. She cursed her own laziness—she almost picked up winter tires yesterday, but couldn’t bear to stand up again after slumping on the couch after work. Even driving the speed limit felt perilous.

When she nearly arrived at the warehouse, her GPS told her to make a hard left into what appeared to be a snowbank. Ann trusted the GPS blindly, and turned her steering wheel, closing her eyes to brace for the impact, but it never came. She opened her eyes. Tucked away under mountains of bright white snow peppered with chunks of bark was Shibden Logging Company, a cluster of large buildings lined with four identical trucks and trailers.

“WAREHOUSE” was painted on the first building in large, liver-colored letters, and “OFFICE” on the building beside it. When Ann entered, a little head peeked over the desk and waved her over.

“Um, hi. I’m here to pick up the pallet of firewood for, um, the Walker Diner? I’m Ann—er, Walker,” Ann said, smiling gently.

“Oh, you’re her! My sister’s waiting for you upstairs. We’ll load it in the car for you,” she said.

Ann’s eyes flickered between her and her name tag—Marian. The similarities between Anne and her sister manifested in subtle ways. They had the same tight-lipped smile, the corner of their lips wrinkling in the same place. Their eyes were the same warm brown. Anne’s chestnut hair had tongues of gray while Marian’s was only flecked—a marker of their slight difference in age, responsibility, or both.

“Er—thank you,” Ann said, managing a nervous smile.

Ann sprinted up the steep metal stairs to Anne’s office. It was tightly-packed, quaint, and—like her father’s—stuck in the analog age of the 90s, save for the sleek laptop on her desk. A massive coat rack ran the length of the wall next to the door, a dozen or so coats, sweatshirts, flannels, hats, and gloves stacked precariously on top of each other.

Anne herself hadn’t yet noticed her in the doorway. A deep wrinkle cut between her eyebrows as she glared at her computer screen. Ann knocked gently on the door, flashing a small smile when Anne looked up.

“Sorry, looking at resumes,” Anne said. “Our little secret. Don’t tell Marian, but I’m filtering them for her.”

“I won’t say a word,” Ann promised. “Marian said you wanted to see me? I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped by coming.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Anne said, waving her hand. “I simply want to apologize. This is not how our business typically operates. I only hope that you and your sister can empathize with the...unique struggles of running a family business, and trust that I promise more professional service in the future.”

Ann understood why she was the matriarch of the family. Anne was serious and solemn and genuine, all at once. She made receiving an apology a humbling experience. Ann blushed.

“That’s—thank you, but not needed, I promise. You had me worried, actually,” Ann admitted shyly.

“Did I?”

A smirk replaced the frown on Anne’s lips. Funny, how one action smoothed the lines between her eyebrows and brought a gleam to her eyes. She leaned forward at her desk and picked up a document as if to read it, but her eyes glossed over the text while her grin widened enough to wrinkle her cheek. Ann took a cautious step forward.

Ann nodded. “You did. So much talk of being stressed and shorthanded and logging being quite dangerous—I was worried you’d bitten off more than you could chew, and something happened,” Ann rambled.

Anne said, “You’re remarkably kind, to worry so much about someone as inconsequential as me.”

Lord. Ann felt her blush creeping to her ears. She trapped herself in awkward, vulnerable, in-between places so easily. How could she tell Anne how much she meant to her when she didn’t even know? Ann cringed thinking about it. Ugh—Anne was everything important, important to her job, her community, her family, and Ann was simply in awe of her, wanting to catch every glimpse of her she could. She soaked Anne up like sunlight.

“You aren’t inconsequential,” Ann managed.

The idea that Anne Lister could think of herself as  _ inconsequential _ —it was totally preposterous. She was a fucking  _ logger _ for heaven’s sake! How could she think so poorly of herself? Ann searched for a way to string her thoughts together, to tell this incredible, strong, smart fucking goddess how amazing she was? Ann came up short. Just another example of how inconsequential she actually was. Frantically, she searched for a way out of this in-between place. 

“I’m sorry,” Anne said, cracking her neck with a wince. “I’m a bit overstressed these days.”

“You could get hurt, you know. If you aren’t able to relax. All the tension settles in your neck and shoulders and if you move wrong—well. It all gets worse than before.”

“Does it? Hmm. What would you suggest?”

“When my father first opened the restaurant, he had the same problem as you. He worked too much. My mother couldn’t get him to take a day off, so they made a compromise—every day at lunch, she’d give him a shoulder massage, and he got a second wind.”

“Well, I’m hiring, if you want to pass that on to your mother,” Anne joked.

“My mother is dead,” Ann said matter-of-factly. She was so used to saying it aloud, she forgot how heavy of a thing that was, especially to casually mention to a stranger. “Er—I mean, for a while now. I don’t mean to be a downer, not when you’re already—sorry, I should have—have said, ‘thank you, I will.’”

“You’re perfectly fine,” Anne said.

“Anyway, um, your wife could do that for you,” Ann suggested sheepishly.

“I don’t have one,” Anne said, and the tiniest hint of a smirk returned.

“Oh! Well, um, I don’t either,” Ann said. She chanced a look at Anne’s face, then flickered back to the floor. “I suppose, if you want, I could—show you what I mean.”

“I’d like that,” Anne said.

Then, Anne began to unbutton her flannel—the same one she wore when they first met, Ann realized. Her fingers worked quickly, but for Ann, the spin of the world slowed. The thread on the first button was loose and fraying. Anne’s thumb pushed it through gently, then her index finger plucked it free. She shrugged the flannel off, revealing a crisp white t-shirt beneath. Ann grit her teeth to control herself, then bolted behind her. 

Ann’s hands hovered a millimeter above Anne’s broad shoulders. Touching her was terrifying, like how touching a thing in a dream somehow made it less real—well,  _ more _ real, more mortal, organic, flawed. Ann loved thinking of her, spinning maybes from normal actions, swearing there was an intent in the flash of her smile. If she touched her, Anne would be a normal person, and no longer her fantasy.

It was stupid, but the realization made her pause. 

_ You’ve got this. You’ve given your mom and your friends shoulder rubs all the time, there’s nothing weird about  _ it, she reminded herself. Then why did her heart beat so furiously?

Ann rested her palms flat on Anne’s back. The heat of her skin made her shirt feel as thin as tissue paper. She gently rubbed the plane of Anne’s back, the curve of her shoulders, and the base of her neck. Her fingertips traced the bulge of each muscle and brushed away flyaway hair. Ann continued like that for a few minutes, tenderly brushing Anne’s shoulders and back with the flat of her palm, the back of her hand, and her fingertips, until the rhythm of it nearly put her to sleep.

“That tickles,” Anne said, shifting in her seat.

“It’s supposed to relax you,” Ann informed her. “Otherwise the next bit’ll hurt.”

“Hmm. I suppose I am relaxed. You’re the expert,” Anne said, resigned.

Ann pressed the pads of her fingers into a knot between Anne’s neck and shoulder and worked hard, firm circles until the muscle loosened. Ann swallowed; each muscle under her fingers was hard enough that she had difficulty telling what was knotted and what wasn’t, and she transitioned to kneading broad circles with the butt of her hand, focusing on a knot only when Anne let out a telltale groan. Each sound wrestled free from Anne’s throat sent a burning from Ann’s chest to her thighs. In a matter of minutes, her entire body was on fire.

“Is it just Marian that’s got you stressed? Well, I mean, not ‘just,’ obviously,” Ann gasped, desperate for a distraction from the building heat in her body.

“Mmm, she is the source of many of my frustrations, but—ah!—no,” Anne huffed. “That one is killing me—harder there, please. _ Lord _ , it sounds like we’re doing something terribly inappropriate.”

The universe was truly sabotaging Ann in every way it could.

“What else is going on?” Ann pressed, pointedly ignoring the previous comment.

“Oh, absolutely everything. Work drama, which of course translates to family drama, my father is like an old woman, the way he nags sometimes,” Anne said. “They hardly seem to understand that I’m one person. And of course an awful ex of mine, involving herself in my life like she has any claim on it.”

“That’s horrible,” Ann cooed. Her lips nearly touched Anne temple, and she almost kissed her. “I can’t imagine taking so much on at once. You’re amazing for even  _ trying _ to handle it all.”

“Mmm,” Anne hummed in appreciation, then she hissed when Ann found a particularly large knot, and worked it mercilessly until it was gone.

When Ann finished, she twirled Anne’s braid in her finger. Maybe she should have been worried about the gesture being too familiar, but it just felt right.

“All done!” Ann said brightly.

“I feel a bit exhausted, even though I did none of the work,” Anne said, chuckling.

“You did plenty of work,” Ann said, resting her chin on Anne’s shoulder playfully.

Anne went quiet. In the silence, Ann realized how close they were. The space between them hummed. Anne closed the distance, and kissed her.

Ann gasped gently. She thought to pull away, but didn’t, and closed her eyes, melting into the wet of Anne’s mouth. She kissed her back, running her bottom lip over the length of Anne’s, then hummed when Anne closed her lips over the corner of her mouth. Ann tilted her head to kiss her again, but Anne held her chin and steadied her, brushing her thumb over the length of her jaw.

A knock on the door jerked them apart.

“I—” Ann sputtered.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” Anne said. Her cheeks and ears burned crimson. Glaring at the door, she snapped, “What is it?”

Marian entered with an “oh!” and Ann’s heart hammered in her chest. She felt trapped. It was hard to breathe. She had to go outside, to get away, to think—

“I—I should go,” Ann stammered. 

She couldn’t bear to look at Anne’s face. Without waiting for a reply, she squeezed between Marian and the door, rushing toward the car while her mind spun.

Anne kissed her. Ann kissed her back. What did that mean?


	4. 4

Ann hadn’t been to the gym in… well, ever. By way of muscles, she had basically none. Ever since she’d turned thirty, she’d been meaning to take better care of herself. Start running or lifting weights or doing yoga. But then something came up, and the gym was always so crowded, and were all exercise clothes so  _ tight _ ? She was certainly cursing herself now, with a trunk full of wood and two spaghetti arms. 

It was just - yesterday had just been so  _ lovely. _ Talking to Anne and touching her shoulders and - and - and  _ kissing  _ her. Ann had replayed that moment over and over and over. She’d dreamed about it - the softness of Anne’s lips, the tenderness of her hands, the electricity passing between them. Even the way Anne’s muscles had moved under her hands: tense at first, then relaxing into submission. She was so strong, so stubborn, but so very soft underneath; Anne had rolled over for Ann like a puppy. There was no denying the thrill that fact sent through Ann’s body. To be the one who tamed this rough, no-nonsense lumberjack? Ann felt heady with power. 

So, of course, with her mind full of Anne Lister, Ann had neglected to unload the wood yesterday. How could she spend her time doing something so mundane? Her feet hadn’t even touched the ground. She floated home, floated to bed, floated into dreams of Anne Lister’s strong shoulders and gentle kisses. There had been no time for stopping at the diner and messing about with splinters.

Unfortunately, that meant that now Ann was staring down a trunk full of wood, a full diner, and her sister’s judgmental face. 

“Shall I call George?” Elizabeth asked from the doorway of the restaurant. “He can help.”

“ _ No. _ ” If there was one thing Ann categorically did not want, it was her brother-in-law messing about. The diner was sacred - the  _ Walker  _ Family Diner, not the Sutherland Family Diner. “I can do this.”

Twenty minutes later, Ann still had not done it. She kept twisting her head, assessing the situation, then hefting a few logs, then dropping them. This stupid wood - it caught on her jumper, dug into her palms, pressed uncomfortably against her stomach. She tied her hair back in a messy bun and planted her hands on her hips. She could do this. She  _ would  _ do this. Maybe.

“Need some help?” 

Ann whipped around at the sound of that familiar, low voice. There, backlit by the morning sun, was that tall figure in the worn work jacket; her profile seemed especially stark like this. She really was devastatingly handsome, wasn’t she? Ann smiled, relief flooding her body; Anne would fix this. Anne could fix anything. 

“Yes,” she breathed, chuckling in embarrassment. “I - I - I can’t seem to get these indoors.”

“Need gloves, Miss Walker,” Anne teased, hefting a bundle of wood onto her shoulder and tucking the other under her arm. “Now that I know what those hands are capable of…” Anne trailed off, then shook her head. “Same place as before?”

“Uh, yes,” Ann said, gesturing vaguely to the diner. “Let me get the door.”

Ann’s face flushed as she scurried to hold the door open for Anne. Even with Anne’s wink as she passed, Ann’s mind filled with doubts. Was Anne flirting with her? Then she’d - it seemed like she’d thought better of it. Perhaps flirting with naive girls was just a reflex for Anne Lister; surely, then, kissing girls was just as natural. It wasn’t some big thing. Anne probably kissed loads of girls in her office. Ann was such a fool for thinking it was anything more.

“One more trip,” Anne said as she went back to Ann’s car; her rough, gloved hand squeezed Ann’s.

Ann bit her lip as she watched Anne heft the rest of the wood into her arms. She was just too good-looking, wasn’t she? Her dark hair was tied back, and her neck was so long. An image flashed in Ann’s brain - dragging her tongue along the tan column, right where that tendon pressed against her skin. Ann shook her head; she couldn’t indulge that kind of fantasy, not when she wasn’t sure what Anne’s intentions were. 

Still, as Anne trotted back toward her, Ann’s chest swelled. She was so fucking gorgeous, wasn’t she? Her smile was so broad that Ann couldn’t help imagining it was for her. The way her dark eyes danced, the flecks of grey in her hair glinting in the sun, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes - that had to be real, didn’t it? Surely she didn’t smile at just anyone like that. Ann followed her inside, trying and failing to avoid admiring the curve of her ass as she bent over. What kind of torture was this? Anne was practically dangling her incredible body in front of her, and all Ann could do was watch.

“All set,” Anne said as she pulled off her gloves. “Could I trouble you for a minute of your time?”

“Uh, yeah - yes!” Ann said too quickly. “Of course. Flapjacks?” She didn’t wait for Anne to respond. “Coming right up.”

***

What a strange creature, Anne thought as Ann scampered away toward the kitchen. Anne wanted to speak with her, just to explain her actions yesterday. That whole business in her office - what a mess. Anne sank into the same booth as last week, pulling her coat and hat off and nervously tugging at her collar. She’d overstepped yesterday, of that much she was sure. Those hours last night, remembering Ann’s gentle hands and soft voice - what a foolish, immature fantasy. The likelihood that Ann was interested in the over-the-hill owner of a nearly bankrupt logging company was slim to none. Anne shook her head and ran a hand through her hair, inadvertently loosening her ponytail. 

Her watch seemed to tick in her ears; she didn’t have time for this, but she couldn’t seem to leave. All she wanted was a quick word with Ann, but it was clear the girl wasn’t interested. Anne studied her from across the diner. She was brilliant, wasn’t she? Juggling and laughing and smiling. Ann was everything Anne wasn’t - she seemed to bring joy to everyone who came across her path. Not to mention, of course, her femininity; that was one thing Anne could never hope to master.

The curl of her hair and the curve of her breasts - Anne longed to take Ann in her arms, slip her fingers through those curls and close those breasts between her lips. After that kiss, Anne couldn’t help herself from imagining their future - what it would be like to have Ann in bed, to take her out for dinner, to actually, properly know her. That’s how Anne knew she had it bad - Ann Walker didn’t appeal to her just as a conquest; Anne actually felt those dusty corners of her scarred heart lighting up, making space again, ready to be hurt once more. Careful, she reminded herself as Ann approached.

“Chef’s special,” Ann said brightly as she set down a plate of pancakes and a mug of coffee. “Well, not really, but -”

“Looks perfect,” Anne said. “Thank you.” Ann started to move away. “Sit down - uh, please? If you’d like.”

“Sure.” Ann smiled as she slipped into the booth. 

“I wanted to - um,” Anne searched Ann’s face, then shifted her gaze down to the steam drifting off her coffee, “thank you for - for yesterday. I - I had a really nice time.”

“Me too,” Ann said softly. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable, actually, which surprised Anne. Usually, she felt the need to fill silences, but Ann exuded a sense of calm that quieted her. Perhaps that’s why Anne was finding it so difficult to say what she wanted to say.

“Did you have a good night?” Anne asked, searching for purchase, something that would help springboard into her real question.

“I did,” Ann said, a genuine smile stretching across her face. 

“I’m a bit embarrassed,” Anne said sheepishly, “if I’m honest. About - er, about subjecting you to - to my complaints.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was everything,” Anne said sincerely. “It meant a lot to me, and - and I’m very grateful to you.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Anne shielded her embarrassment by digging into her pancakes. When she spoke, Ann’s voice was so gentle and kind it almost made Anne tear up.

“You take care of everyone around you, but - forgive me, for - but, uh - it seems like you could use someone to take care of you.”

Anne nodded, her mouth full; her throat was suddenly so dry. More than likely, Ann was right, but Anne couldn't allow herself to think like that. To admit weakness. To admit how much Ann’s tenderness meant to her. She didn’t want to bring it up, the massage, the kiss, the chemistry between them. For once in her life, she’d like to follow someone else’s lead. Keeping up the company was enough work. Wrestling with the demons from her past was enough work. She didn’t need to add rejection-from-the-cute-girl-at-the-diner to the list. 

***

Why was Anne being so  _ quiet _ ? Was she embarrassed? Should Ann leave her to eat in peace? What had changed since yesterday?

For perhaps the first time in her life, Ann made a conscious decision to be brave. A small hurricane seemed to be churning in her stomach, but she pushed past it. Breathed deeply. Reminded herself of her therapist’s words about vulnerability. She could do this. She  _ would  _ do this. 

“Anne.” She leaned forward, speaking quietly. “All my life I’ve been - been terribly afraid. Of everything,” she chuckled; Anne had set her fork down and was now fixing Ann with that same calm, patient expression. “Yesterday, I - and today, I -” Ann shook her head, looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath. “When I’m around you, I’m not frightened.”

Anne’s lips parted, but she said nothing. They were on the precipice; Ann could feel it. Perhaps Anne would lurch across the table and snog her. Perhaps she would laugh in Ann’s face. Instead, she took Ann’s hand between both of her own; her skin was rough, calloused, impossibly and intoxicatingly warm. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. 

“Would you have dinner with me?” Anne asked, her eyes still focused on their hands. 

“Of course. When?”

“Tonight?” 

Ann stuttered - was Anne really inviting her over on Christmas Eve?

“Forget it,” Anne said quickly, retracting her hands. “I overstepped. I -”

“No!” Ann caught herself. “No, no, I - are you sure? Tonight?”

“We don’t - it’s fine, if you -”

“Maybe not tonight,” Ann said gently. “Another night?”

“Tomorrow, then.” Anne started to smile. “You told me you don’t usually have plans on Friday nights. I’ll cook for you! I’ll - let me take care of you. Repay the favor.”

Anne was so eager, so sincere; the gold flecks in her eyes seemed to gleam extra brightly. How could Ann refuse her? It wasn’t like she had plans anyway.

“Of course,” Ann said, a wide smile spreading across her face. “I would love that. 

***

“You’ve done  _ what?” _ Marian roared when Anne came back to the office.

“Invited that young Miss Walker,” Anne said smugly, tossing an apple between her hands, “for dinner. Tomorrow night”

“Have you?” 

Marian leaned back in her chair; why was she smiling like that? Anne had just done the first proper  _ good _ thing in quite a long time. The first thing that could actually set her life on the right path. She might have bumbled through the asking, been less confident than she’d have liked, but she did it. She’d be over that old heartache in no time.

“Sister,” Marian drawled, “what’s today’s date?”

“The - the twenty-fourth,” Anne shrugged.

“Of what month?”

“December.”

What was Marian on about? And why did she look so pleased? It was the twenty-fourth of December, any idiot could -

Oh.

_ Oh,  _ fuck. 

This was - well, this was just awful, wasn’t it? Had she really set up a potential date - a potential  _ first  _ date for Christmas Bloody Day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Anne Lister has one brain cell, and she uses it entirely for flirting with pretty girls. None of that pesky date-remembering business.


	5. 5

Of all the ridiculous, idiotic,  _ complete _ wastes of her time, this had to be the worst one. There was no way Anne was doing this. There was simply no way in hell she would do this. Screw John Booth and his fractured ankle. It was Christmas Day, and she had a date to prepare for. There simply wasn’t time for this kind of childish festivity.

“Here it is,” Marian cried happily, wielding the most outrageous red suit Anne had ever seen. “It’ll be loose, but it’ll work.”

“I’m not -”

“Yes, you are,” Aunt Anne interrupted her. “This charity bit is important. It was important to your Uncle James, and it’ll be important to you.”

“But, Aunt, I-”

“Not a conversation, Anne,” her aunt said seriously. “You’ll do it, and you’ll be at that benefit at noon, and you’ll be proper jolly about it.”

It was rare to see Aunt Anne like this, but she was hardly a wilting violet. A lifetime helping her brother with the logging business had honed a steely edge to the matriarch, and, while she usually deferred to Anne these days, there were certain things on which she refused to compromise. Anne’s playing Santa at the annual charity fair seemed to be one of them. They didn’t celebrate Christmas anymore, not since Uncle James had died, and that had been over a decade ago. None of them seemed to have the heart for it, and slowly but surely they had extricated themselves from all sorts of festivities. This fair was the last vestige of the Lister Christmas spirit. Anne sighed and hung her head; it was already over, wasn’t it?

“I have plans tonight,” Anne said glumly. 

“You’ll be finished in time.” Marian laid the suit out and grinned in triumph. “I’ll see you there.”

Marian and Aunt Anne departed for their own homes, and Anne was left alone in her little cottage. Her lip curled in distaste at the fur collar and the ridiculous black boots; a horrifying white beard taunted her from the hanger. With a sigh, she resigned herself to her fate. A few hours in this ridiculous get-up and then she’d retreat home, hopefully into the arms of one Ann Walker.

  
  
  


Across town, Ann grinned widely at her niece; Mary was old enough now to appreciate the yearly Christmas Fair. Her brother, Sackville, was still a bit too young, but he was excited by crowds and noise nonetheless. Mary’s small hand slipped shyly into Ann’s, and Ann’s chest warmed. She was jealous, sometimes, of Elizabeth’s family and the time they took away from Ann, but mostly she loved these kids and their sweet innocence.

“Santa!” Sackville cried, racing toward a rather lean-looking Father Christmas.

Elizabeth made a low sound of annoyance, but Ann touched her arm. 

“I’ll do it,” Ann said easily; she knew how tired Elizabeth was, how exhausting it seemed, having two small children was at this time of year.

She jogged across the square to the rudimentary “North Pole.” A tired-looking elf stood to one side, overseeing the line of waiting children. Garland hung across the signage, fake snow covered the short platform, and a large red and gold chair sat in the center. In that seat was a strangely familiar Santa Claus, but Ann couldn’t place him. She studied the bearded face for a moment, but he quickly looked away. Shrugging, Ann led her nephew to the end of the line.

By the time it was Sackville’s turn, Ann had recognized this skinny Santa. It seemed impossible, but - well, how long had Ann spent studying those hands? Admiring those intelligent, dark eyes? Even with that silly red cap and the bushy white beard, Ann would know Anne Lister anywhere. She bit back a smile as Sackville climbed into Anne’s lap and started listing his Christmas wishes. 

Poor Anne, she thought as the older woman nodded sagely at the toddler. She seemed so tired, so very out of her depth. Ann looked over her shoulder; they’d been the last in the queue. Elizabeth was dragging Mary closer; the little girl was terrified of Santa. She stepped closer and smiled sincerely.

“I wonder if Santa needs a break.”

“I don’t think so, miss,” a gruff, dramatically low voice said; was Anne trying to disguise her voice? 

“Miss Lister,” Ann drawled softly, “I think you’re a handsome Father Christmas.”

Anne scoffed and shook her head; a proud grin stretched across Ann’s face at being right. Those long fingers disappeared into the white beard, scratching audibly against the rough material. Anne chuckled softly and looked up at her.

“Take a walk with me.” She took Ann’s hand gently. “There’s a little -” she gestured vaguely. “Walkway thing. Covered, you know.”

Ann nodded and followed Anne behind the makeshift stage. The dirt path led to a folding chair with a few bottles of water and wrapped candies; rather poor refreshments for the jolly man himself, Ann thought, but she figured it was all for charity. Anne stretched her arms, then her legs, then cracked her neck; that loose red suit was somehow incredibly erotic. The shiny black boots were… they certainly were something.

“Not exactly how I wanted you to see me,” Anne said ruefully, tugging the beard down around her neck and dropping into the chair; did she have to spread her legs so  _ wide _ ? Ann bit her lip as her heart raced. “I promise I’ll be dressed better this evening. That is - well, I’m sorry for the dates, I - well, I quite forgot.”

Anne was rubbing her neck again, wincing. 

“Would you mind,” Ann asked, “if I gave you a neck rub? Just quick, because - well, you can say no! That’s, uh -”

“I would love that,” Anne said sincerely.

Ann smiled and moved behind the chair; she started with slow, firm pressure along the base of Anne’s neck. Warmth spread from Anne’s body to her own; it felt incredible to have her hands on Anne’s strong shoulders again.

“Why is Anne Lister alone on Christmas?” 

“My family doesn’t celebrate,” Anne said, her voice taking on that low, satisfied tone it had that day in her office. “Not since my uncle passed. He - he loved Christmas and - well, this whole thing was his plan. We keep it up, but - otherwise it’s too painful. We - it’s just easier this way.”

Ann hummed, unsure what to say. How awful, she thought, to  _ have  _ a family but not to celebrate with them. Ann, at least, was alone. Properly alone, unsettled and unseemly around the Christmas tree. 

“That must be very hard,” Ann said sympathetically.

“Not as hard as having sticky children in my lap for the better part of two hours.”

“I bet,” Ann chuckled, resisting the urge to press her fingers upward, into that gloriously dark hair under the fur-lined cap.

“Much rather have you on my knee,” Anne said, reaching back to cover Ann’s hand on her shoulder.

Before Ann could formulate a response, Anne had tugged her around and slung her across her lap. Her strong thighs flexed under Ann’s behind, one long arm curled behind Ann’s back and a strong hand settled on Ann’s knee. Ann fiddled with the fur lining the front of that ridiculous Santa suit.

“You’re strong,” she said appreciatively, one hand tracing over Anne’s bicep. 

“And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?” Anne purred, her eyes dancing. 

Ann cupped Anne’s handsome cheek and used up the last of her daring.

“You.”

A low growl rumbled in Anne’s throat before she crashed their lips together. This was the kind of kiss Ann had been aching for - sensual, deep, urgent and sloppy. Anne slipped one hand under Ann’s jumper, her warm, calloused skin caressing Ann’s lower back. Ann curled one hand in the front of Anne’s top, the other pushing past the scratchy beard to find Anne’s neck. Her fingertips traced over the thick tendons, relishing the strength coiled beneath her skin. Anne hummed and pulled away, licking her lips and smirking.

“You’re beautiful,” she husked.

“So are you,” Ann breathed, her head spinning with euphoria. 

“Say let’s skip the dinner tonight,” Anne said lowly, catching Ann’s lips in a quick kiss. “Run away with me.”

“You’re not getting out of it that easily,” Ann said with a smile. “Proper dinner first, Miss Lister.”

“Then what?” Anne dared, her lips ghosting across Ann’s.

“We’ll have to see,” Ann teased, stroking Anne’s sharp jawline, “if you’ve been naughty or nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> This idea came from our very own GJ2104, so if you didn’t like it, I guess you’ll have to take it up with her. Hope everyone is having a safe and relaxing holiday season.


	6. 6

Ann’s lips fell into an ever-thinning line while she studied her closet. Her wardrobe was prepared for a number of occasions: playdates with the children, formal weddings,  and even the occasional semi-casual Sutherland family gathering her sister struggled to get right. She fingered her collection of first-date clothes. Dresses like carcasses from failed first-dates collected dust in the back. Her Christmas prospects were no better; ugly Christmas sweaters from years past hung limply from the hanger and caked the carpet below in glitter. She made a note to herself to kiss Anne for the lovely challenge of finding something to  wear on a first date that happens to be on December twenty-fifth.

Ann started again from the left, searching. A dress would be best, certainly—between the bright femininity of a good skirt, and the delicate balance of sophistication and titillation a revealing cut provided, Anne Lister would be fully wrapped around her finger. The difficult part was incorporating the holiday. The subtle embroidery—as beautiful as it was—in one of her mother’s old shawls was too old-fashioned; the glitter and feathers on a gift from Elizabeth and the children was far too casual. Was it a cop-out to simply wear red or green?

Ann pulled a crimson red dress and laid it out on her bed. The collar swept low on her chest and kept her shoulders bare—too much, she thought, for a first date. And in winter. She shivered. Perhaps a deep green was better. She smoothed it out beside the first, then stepped back, tapping her chin. Its collar was the opposite—a true collar that she’d button up to her throat, but the skirt was short enough to be cheeky. It also had pockets, the utility of which couldn’t be ignored. Festive, but a little more subtle. She didn’t want Anne to get the wrong idea. 

Well, she amended as she remembered the way Anne had lifted those logs, perhaps she  _did_ want Anne to get that idea. 

By the time she arrived at Anne’s house, Ann hummed with anticipation. Anne’s little cottage on the Shibden property was cozy, even with the piles of snow all around and the sawdust-caked truck parked outside. Ann reimagined each tiny hill of untouched snow rolled into a snowman, the extra scarves, hats, and gloves in Anne’s office put to use defining the character of each one. Her nieces and nephew would help them, of course—they would love it here, safe enough to roam wherever they wanted and enraptured by the adventure the machinery and action around them provided. 

“Lord, imagining your life here already? Talk about getting ahead of yourself,” Ann  scolded.

Anne Lister rendered her entirely useless. Ann was head  over heels, infatuated, crushing like a teenager. The spare bits of her brain were reengineered to think of her kiss, her body, or what it might be like to be her wife. What did her hair smell like, or her breath in the morning? Does she like to take fast showers, or soak in the warmth of the water? What does she do for fun?

Ann couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so excited for a meal.  Spending an entire evening enchanted by Anne Lister balled so much excitement in her chest she wanted to scream—even if nothing physical happened between them. A few hours wrapped up in the warmth of her voice and the reassuring curve of her smile was heaven itself.

Ann wandered awkwardly up the hastily shoveled stairs, then hesitated in front of the door, unsure if she should open the screen door to knock on the real door, or call, or—oh. There was a little bell, the edges of the button unevenly worn with use. She rang the bell and shivered on the doorstep; Ann had forgone her puffy winter coat in favor of a simple grey peacoat. She wasn’t about to show up to a date with Anne Lister looking like a marshmallow. 

Heavy footfalls ran to the door, then paused. Ann giggled, wondering if Anne was fixing her hair, or straightening her collar, or taking a deep breath, as nervous as she was. Finally, Anne swung open the door and stepped back to let her inside.

“Miss Walker,” Anne said with a wide grin, throwing the door wide. “I am  so happy to see you.”

“Thank you.  I — um, thank you for having me. You look different without a beard,” Ann teased as Anne slipped the coat from her shoulders.

Anne sighed, “I was going to wait until we sat down to eat to broach that topic, but I suppose I’ll ask you now. I was thinking of wearing the beard full time—thoughts?”

“You can do whatever you want, but I should warn you that your choice will affect how often I’ll let you kiss me,” Ann warned, wrinkling her nose.

“Hmm. I suppose it would be very itchy. Best not,” Anne reasoned, her grin widening.

Anne hung her coat, then turned back to Ann. Her smile was radiant. Ann tried to match it, but her teeth chattered from the last breath of cold outside. She wrung her hands together to keep them from trembling, but the gooseflesh spreading over her arms gave her away.

“You’re cold,” Anne observed. Her hand rested on Ann’s bicep,  smoothing over her goosebumps as if to wipe them away. Her touch was  as  warm as sitting next to a fireplace.

“I—I couldn’t find a shawl that looked right with the dress,” Ann explained, then  she  laughed at her own ridiculousness . 

“Hmm.  Luckily, there’s an easy fix for this,” Anne said, plucking a flannel from a coat hanger. “It’s red , so—well, I’m not sure if you’d consider that matching, to be honest. It’s on theme, at least. I’ve only just taken it off, it should still be warm.”

Anne draped it over her shoulders, then paused, thinking, before she tied the sleeves  in a voluptuous bow around her neck. Ann laughed harder than she’d laughed in a long time. She hugged the fabric tightly around her, her teeth still chattering. Anne hugged her close, pressing Ann’s face against her warm chest while she rubbed Ann’s back with the same vigor of a child rubbing two sticks together to start a fire.

Ann longed to spend the entire night—no, her entire  life like that, captured in Anne’s warm embrace, cared for and loved. Who needed to eat when Anne’s musk quenched  the ravenous hunger that  had  gnawed at her chest her entire life? Who needed sleep when the whole of Anne’s hand on her back jolted energy into the very marrow of her bones? Anne chuckled gently, and Ann tilted her head to look up at her.

“You look  very  cute with that bow. I’m  quite talented. I think I might make a career change,” Anne said.

“I’ll set all my clothes aflame to be your muse,” Ann agreed.

“How do you feel about wearing a beard made of cotton balls? ”

Ann smiled into the lumberjack’s shirt. She said, “Mmm, trepidatious, but I could be convinced.”

Anne  laughed at that, then kissed her cheek. They stayed like that for a moment, cheeks touching, the gentle brush of Anne’s breath tickling her skin and catching a single strand of loose hair by her ear. Ann tilted her chin. Just a fraction, just enough for Anne to take the chance, if she wanted. Anne pulled back for an instant, and they locked eyes. Ann lifted her eyebrows, a silent “I’m waiting.” Anne cupped her face and brought their lips together, soft and tender and  careful. When they parted, they were both grinning.

“Let’s eat,” Anne said before kissing Ann’s hand. “I can’t say how excited I’ve been to see you again.”

“Yeah?” 

Anne led her through Shibden’s dark halls, toward a warm, intimate dining room. There were two chairs, two place settings,  and  a fire roaring in the nearby sitting room. For the first time, Ann got to  admire the lumberjack’s outfit: a crisp white shirt and neatly pressed grey trousers. She’d rolled the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows, exposing her delicious, muscular forearms. Her hair hung loosely around her face, just shy of her shoulders; Ann was stunned by how handsome, how soft, how intensely attractive she  was, all at once.

“Here.” Anne pulled out a chair, and Ann sat down. “I want to start by — um, by saying how embarrassed I am to have —er, to have confused the dates like this. I hope I haven’t kept you from something important tonight.”

“You haven’t,” Ann said seriously. “I — I always spend Christmas alone.”

She blushed at the admission. Spending Christmas day with Elizabeth and the children would be pleasant, but Elizabeth’s husband wanted it to be an immediate family affair. Ann’s presence would be an intrusion, and George was nothing if not adept at making that obvious. Most years, she spent the day baking for herself and watching Christmas movies. It wasn’t as sad as saying it aloud made it seem, but it was still lonely.

“Do you?” Anne’s eyes were so soft and so pitying that Ann was grateful when she started to pull covers  off the dishes in front of them. “Then I am glad to be celebrating with you this year. We’ve got steak and potatoes and carrots and —and  there’s pudding after.”

Steam erupted from a bowl of mashed potatoes, like a little volcano. At the center of the table was a plate of steaks, cut to reveal a deep, lovely red at the center. Smaller bowls of carrots, cranberry sauce, gravy, and stuffing surrounded them. It was the most lavish Christmas dinner Ann had had since her parents died.

“You didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” Ann said, overwhelmed by the spread.

“I can’t invite the prettiest girl in town over for dinner on Christmas Day and serve her—oh, I don’t know, something terrible.” Anne grinned as she flicked her napkin into her lap. “Are you—oh, God, are you vegetarian? I didn’t even—”

“I’m not!” Ann said quickly. The fear on Anne’s face was laughable. “No, this  is  lovely, Anne. It’s perfect. It’s—it’s the kindest thing I could possibly imagine. ”

They began to eat, and for those few moments neither of them spoke. The scrape of utensils and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds in the room. Ann glanced at Anne once or twice, and always found her glancing back, cutting her cheek with a grin while she finished the last few bites of steak. Ann moved on to potatoes next, and it was all she could do  but close her eyes in  rapture while the butter dissolved on her tongue.

“You’re an amazing cook,” Ann gushed, breaking the silence.

“Thank you,” Anne said. Ann adored the way compliments twisted her good-natured grin into a cocky smirk. “Now, tell me if this is too personal, but  I thought you had some kind of massive family. How  is  a lovely young lady like yourself alone on Christmas?”

“Oh, I — I do have a massive family.” Ann rolled her eyes playfully. “But they’ve all got their own families, and children — actual, proper children, and — well, it’s not much fun having your invalid aunt over on Christmas.”

“Invalid,” Anne said as she speared a piece of steak. “There’s that word again. You don’t look very invalid to me.”

Ann flushed. Would she make it through this evening alive?

“I’ve got a weak spine,” Ann explained. She stared at her plate; why was she telling Anne this? Not exactly alluring. “That’s what the doctors say. All sorts of medical jargon and tests and creams and medicine, but the short version is I’m weak.” She shot a glance at Anne. “Just in general.”

“I think they’re wrong,” Anne said softly. “I’ve seen you at work — and it’s not easy work — and you’re perfectly strong. You could run that diner on your own, if you wanted to.”

“I doubt it.” Ann shook her head. “Elizabeth — that’s my sister — she takes care of everything. She probably wants me to take over, since she’s always so busy, but, I couldn’t even — I mean, I couldn’t get the wood in this morning by myself.”

“Hmm.  Perhaps you just need a bit of help ,” Anne said.

It hung there, for an instant. An offer — would Anne be that person? Was she saying she wanted to be — what? Ann didn’t dare to dream about it. This was just dinner, she reminded herself, not a marriage proposal.

“Perhaps I do,” Ann replied simply, hoping her coy smile would be clear enough.

***

Anne hadn’t meant to bring up Mariana. She’d actually told herself, rather sternly,  not to bring her up. Anne was on a cleanse, taking thirty days to reset her body since their latest row. It was too much, the constant waiting and disappointment and lack of respect. Anne had told herself she wouldn’t see or speak to Mariana for at least thirty days. It had proven remarkably easy. Anne was still lonely, of course, but she didn’t miss Mary. That ship had sailed so long ago she couldn’t even see it on the horizon anymore.

“It’s all very complicated,” Anne said, ending the Cliffnotes version of their sordid past. “I — I just — I’m usually with her on Christmas.”

“Do you miss her?” 

“No,” Anne answered thoughtfully. “I don’t think I do, actually. All that’s behind me. Maybe for the first time ever, I can really say that.”

After that, conversation flowed between them as naturally as water. Ann was charming and funny and bright; she surprised Anne with her quips, her cheeky jokes, her thoughtful comments. Anne couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed speaking to anyone quite so much. 

“Leave it,” Anne said when Ann made to clear their empty plates. “This is one table you don’t have to bus. Can I — that is, would you  stay awhile and  have a drink with me?”

“Of course,” Ann said with that shy smile. 

Anne longed to kiss that smile, gently, until it flourished into something else. She loathed the playful beginning of a relationship, where each kiss and tender touch was a monument within itself. Perhaps that was why Mariana lured her in again and again—there was nothing to the affection between two people who knew each other’s bodies more fully than one knew themselves. Anne’s impatience got in the way of her happiness. Mary was easy, but no longer worthwhile.

Perhaps that was the heart of what made Ann special for her. Ann was easy without trying, and seemed to crave the affection  Anne craved to give. While their kisses planted themselves as iconic moments, they were just as keen to steal casual affection from what was proper. Anne’s hand on her back. Ann’s fingers brushing her hair. Anne could steal a kiss, turning it into something more real and less divine, and the girl might even let her.

Balancing a stack of plates and bowls in one hand, Anne dared to lean over and kiss her. Gently. At the corner of her mouth, one hand brushing her hair, then a second kiss on her forehead.  She didn’t linger and let it become its own moment. Instead, Ann followed her to the sink, and returned the gesture by playfully kissing the base of her throat.

“Having a drink with you is going to be dangerous, isn’t it?” Anne said breathlessly.

“What do you mean?” Ann said, feigning innocence.

Anne raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to let me kiss you _whenever_ I want, aren’t you?” Anne accused. The girl nodded, a grin splitting her face. “Dangerous. That’s a slippery road to letting me kiss you  _where_ _ver_ I want. I can’t be trusted with that power, you know.”

The coy little thing actually laughed. “I guess you’ll have to find out,” she teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter came so late, friends! As you can imagine, this is my (shinyhuman) fault, and Celine is so patient with me. I hope all your Christmases were as great as mine, and that this helps you hold on to that cheer a little bit longer. <3


	7. 7

“At least let me help,” Ann said in that quiet, sweet way of hers. “With the dishes.”

“Really, I’ve -” A small hand slipped around Anne’s waist, a sharp chin hooked over her shoulder as Anne approached the kitchen sink. The dishes clattered in the sink as Ann caressed her flat stomach. “I guess I could use some help.”

“Yeah?” 

Ann’s voice was soft in her ear, her breath a warm challenge against Anne’s skin. Turning slowly, Anne moved to face the younger woman. She cupped her beautiful face in her hands. Ann’s chin tilted up, just a fraction, and their lips met. Exploratory, gentle, slow. Anne watched the angelic peace fall over Ann’s face, that look she always got when they kissed. She turned them around, pressing Ann gently into the counter. Soft hands ran along her shoulders, up her neck, into her hair. Ann’s lips parted, and Anne caught her quiet moan. 

Did she have to be so  _ lovely? _ It was the only word Anne could think of:  _ lovely _ . Rather a simpering word, Anne usually thought, but it worked for this girl. She was just - well, lovely. There was something about the innocence of her expression and the determined, knowing press of her hips. Anne decided to take a chance.

“What!” 

Ann giggled as she was hoisted onto the counter, and Anne slipped between her spread legs. From this angle, Ann was above her, and it felt right. Ann was ethereal; it was only proper that Anne worship her from below. She ran her hands along Ann’s warm thighs, then back down to repeat the same path under her skirt. Ann’s hands were restless, exploring her hair and her neck and her shoulders. Anne tilted her head, deepening their kiss, longing to feel Ann’s tongue sliding along hers. She dared higher, one hand relinquishing Ann’s thigh and cupping her face, her neck, her breast. Anne bit her lip, and Ann broke away with a gasp.

“Too much?” Anne asked. 

“Not at all,” Ann said breathlessly; she kissed Anne again, just lightly. “What about that drink?”

Anne nodded, biting back her sigh. She stepped back, helped Ann to her feet, tried to ignore the warmth in her chest as Ann’s fingers interlaced with her own. The living room fire was nearly dead, and Anne dropped to her knees to revive it. Why in the world she kissed Ann’s knuckles before she did, Anne wasn’t sure. There was some tenderness between them, something Anne couldn’t ignore. Normally, she’d take this girl straight to her room and ravish her. What was she waiting for? 

Anne would be lying if she said she wasn’t thinking about sleeping with this girl. She was beautiful, that was a given, but she was clever and interesting as well. She’d rather unhinged Anne with this quiet, soft-spoken way of hers. Anne wanted to take things slow, but she couldn’t deny the way Ann’s touch made her feel.

That  _ massage  _ \- had any single action ever made Anne so calm and so aroused at once? And the kiss - the tentative way Ann’s lips had pressed to hers, the tender way they’d come together, the greedy desire coursing through Anne’s veins. Kissing her in the dining room was a challenge, a dare, an opportunity for Ann to object. She hadn’t. Then again by the sink - they couldn’t seem to stop. Their bodies gravitated toward each other, like the snowflakes silently accumulating outside. And now she was standing slightly behind Anne, a warm hand on her shoulder, setting Anne’s entire body on fire.

“I wonder if you’d teach me,” Ann said, her skilled hands already easing Anne’s tense muscles, “how to build a real fire. Then I could do it for myself.” She paused; Anne’s eyes drifted closed. “Then again, I still need an excuse for you to come by the diner.”

“No, you don’t,” Anne murmured sleepily; “I’ll come over any time you like.”

“On one condition.”

“Sure.”

“You’ll let me do this more often.”

“No objections from me,” Anne said with a content sigh; she laid a hand over Ann’s on her shoulder. “How about that drink?”

It was dangerous, being on the floor like this, Ann’s hands on her body. Take it slow, she reminded herself as she pushed up to her feet. She had a rudimentary bar in the corner of the room. Cocking one hip to the side, she studied Ann Walker, still knelt on the floor in that stunning little dress.

“You’re not a whisky girl, I’m guessing.”

“Right,” Ann said with a sheepish chuckle. 

“I’ve got some wine.” Anne stopped to root through the rows of dusty bottles. “Red?”

“Lovely.”

Then she smiled. That perfect, sunshine-y, Ann-Walker smile. Anne melted. She poured herself a neat whisky and carried their glasses to the thin carpet in front of the hearth. Ann looked up at her coyly. Did she have any idea how her breasts looked from this angle?

“I do have chairs. I even have a whole couch.”

“It’s so cozy,” Ann said and shrugged. “Feels like Christmas.”

“It does,” Anne agreed as she dropped to her knees and handed Ann her wine. “I can’t help feeling like you’re my gift this year.”

Ann bit her lip and looked down. Reaching forward, Anne curled a single finger under her chin and tilted her head upward. Their eyes met, and Ann dared her forward. Their lips met in a slow, searching kiss. Ann threaded her fingers through Anne’s hair, pulling her closer; Anne pressed forward, clunkily setting her glass on the hearth. 

“You’re good at that,” Ann breathed when they parted.

Anne licked her lips. This girl - was she some kind of vision? Her cheeks and neck were flushed a perfectly rosy pink; her chest rose and fell with that breathless excitement that only came from arousal. Even now, she was trailing her fingertips over Anne’s jaw and along her neck. The signs were all there; perhaps Anne wouldn’t take it so slowly after all.

“What are we doing?” Ann asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Anne’s lips parted, but she said nothing. What was it about this girl that made Anne so shy? She was so delicate; Anne was so broken. What  _ were _ they doing here?  _ Buck up, Lister _ , she told herself sternly; there’s a perfectly beautiful girl just waiting to be ravished. 

***

Why wasn’t Anne  _ kissing  _ her? She was just staring at Ann, her dark, soulful eyes searching for - for what? Had Ann done something wrong? That story at dinner about her nephew was a bit off-putting, but otherwise Ann thought she’d been pretty charming tonight. By the look in Anne’s eyes, she wanted Ann. Was Ann reading it wrong? What was missing?

“I’ve been trying to seduce you,” Anne said softly; one rough hand reached out to tuck Ann’s hair behind her ear. “But I can’t decide between lines.”

“Lines?” Ann’s brow furrowed in confusion; why was Anne still not kissing her?

“On the one hand,” Anne said, a rakish smile tugging at her lips, “I might say you’re my Christmas present. And my future.” Ann shivered at the low, suave tone of Anne’s voice. “Or,” Anne drawled, grinning properly now, “shall I unwrap you, Miss Walker?”

“Yes,” Ann breathed, desperation coiling in her gut and between her legs. 

Ann gasped as Anne’s soft lips met hers. One strong arm wrapped around her as Anne’s firm body pressed her onto her back. Ann looped her arms around the lumberjack’s strong neck, one hand tangling in her dark hair. Anne’s lips parted, her tongue slipping into Ann’s mouth. The thin rug scratched against Ann’s exposed skin; the warmth of the fire and Anne’s body above hers burned Ann all over. The silky fabric of Anne’s trouser brushed against Ann’s thighs, and Ann moaned softly. Ann forced her eyes open, finding those gold-rimmed eyes staring deeply into hers as Anne pulled away.

“You’re beautiful,” Anne said.

Not knowing what to say, Ann bit her lip and looked up at the stunning creature above her. They hovered just between moments; Ann could feel it. She’d never wanted anyone this much. Fire burned in Anne’s eyes, then a flicker of indecision. Ann shook her head and kissed her again. When they parted, Ann was panting, and Anne was licking her lips. 

“God, I bet you taste good.”

Ann could only whine in response, her voice quickly muffled by Anne’s insistent lips on hers. That strong, calloused hand transformed into the softest velvet; Anne caressed Ann’s neck, her long fingers slipping lower, over Ann’s collarbone, her chest. She was perfectly slow, her movements intoxicatingly sensual; even the pads of her fingertips were graceful as she brushed across Ann’s straining nipple. 

Ann moaned into their kiss as Anne’s knee pressed between her legs. Should she be embarrassed? Anne would certainly know by now how wet she was. Even through Ann’s panties and Anne’s trousers, she’d be able to tell. Anne pulled back, panting and grinning; she cupped Ann’s face with one hand, her thumb passing gently over Ann’s cheek.  _ This is it _ , Ann thought as Anne’s lips met hers again and one of those deliciously warm hands slid up her thigh;  _ this is the moment _ . 

Perhaps it was this train of thought. Perhaps it was the incredible dexterity of Anne’s hand slipping into her panties. Perhaps it was Ann’s futile attempt to memorize every sensation, every slide of Anne’s lips and hum in her throat and delicate, teasing circle of her fingertips. Perhaps it was absolute, sheer insanity. Whatever it was, Ann certainly hadn’t meant for it to happen. Of course she hadn’t. The words slipped out before she even realized.

“I love you.”

It hung there, between them. For an instant; for an eternity. Ann’s heart raced, but her mind was clear. It was true, after all. Was it too early? Almost definitely. But Ann couldn’t help herself. This electricity between them - that was love. Ann knew it as surely as she’d ever known anything in her life. Even at dinner, with clothes and plates and food between them, Ann had felt this electricity. Ann had felt lust before; this wasn’t it. This was real, proper love. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or elated. 

Anne, for her part, just grinned and kissed her again, fierce and meaningful. That was enough of an answer for Ann. Besides, her brain could barely function with the fire building within her. Anne’s long fingers teased over her wet center, her tongue danced with Ann’s, her hips rolled in motion with her hand. 

Then - oh, God, and  _ then. _

Anne’s long fingers slipped past - oh, then she was - fuck, was that  _ Ann _ being so loud? Anne’s face appeared above her, grinning in satisfaction, lips slightly parted and eyes sparkling in the firelight. Ann could only pull her closer and rock her hips upward into each gentle, devastating thrust; her eyes drifted closed. Vaguely, she was aware of Anne’s lips on her neck, just behind her ear, along her jaw. It was too fast; Ann was already so very close. Was she really going to - then Anne curled her fingers just  _ so _ . Ann was a goner. 

***

_ Nothing like it _ , Anne mused smugly as she watched this gorgeous creature unfurl in her arms. The first time watching a woman come undone was always something special - the physicality of it, the intimacy, the sensation that yes, in fact, no one on earth had ever been more connected than their two souls. 

Hold on.

That wasn’t right. Anne never felt that way with a new conquest. Not in years. 

Yet, as those dreamy blue eyes slid open, Anne felt her chest expanding in that warm, terrifying way.  _ “I love you.” _ Of course, the poor girl was already thoroughly in love with her. That much was a given. Was Anne falling for her too? A tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind:  _ yes _ . Anne’s chest constricted - not again. 

Ann pulled her down for a soft, sensual kiss; Anne actually allowed herself to get lost in it. She was so pure, this one. So perfectly sweet and innocent and kind. Anne pulled her hand gently away, unsure of her next move. She’d like to sling Ann over her shoulder and haul her to bed, but she wasn’t sure what Ann wanted. The first time on the floor?  _ Not exactly gentlemanly,  _ Anne scolded herself. 

Slim fingers wrapped around her wrist, bringing her wet fingers to Ann’s lips. Anne was certain her heart would stop as Ann licked the length of them, moaning softly at the taste of her own arousal on Anne’s skin. The time for insecurity was long gone. Anne needed to consume her.

“You’re gorgeous,” Anne growled, kissing Ann again, a little more harshly this time. “This fucking dress.”

Anne descended over the girl’s chest, relishing the warmth and softness of her skin, the sharp juts of her clavicle, the gentle swells of her breasts. 

“What’s wrong with it?” Ann arched into her touch, one hand threading lazily through Anne’s hair.

“Maddening,” Anne whispered, mouthing Ann’s breast through the fabric. 

Above her, light giggles filled the room; Anne looked up, sitting back on her knees. How was she so perfect? Laid out on the worn carpet, Ann was ethereal. Some sort of Christmas miracle come to life. Her excited smile, her crown of golden hair, the way she took Anne’s hand and gently passed her thumb over the back of it. Anne kissed her knuckles, then waggled her eyebrows. She flipped up the skirt to Ann’s dress and dragged those ruined panties down pale legs. 

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Ann flushed, shaking her head. Leaning down, Anne trailed her tongue along the smooth expanse of Ann’s calf. 

“You are,” she breathed, kissing a path higher. “You’re incredible.”

“Anne.”

A whine, a plea, a promise. Anne hadn’t heard her name said like that in quite a long time. Someone who truly needed her. Someone who cared that it was  _ Anne _ between her legs. Someone who knew her rough job and eccentric family and hard edges and wanted her still. 

Anne inhaled deeply, steadying herself and filling her lungs with the intoxicating scent of Ann’s arousal. Her hands wrapped around Ann’s hips and gently kissed her clit. Ann gasped, wrapping her hands around Anne’s head. Anne froze; was it too much? Too soon? Ann’s hands were - they were pulling her  _ closer.  _ A proud grin stretched across Anne’s face. They might be more equally matched than Anne had thought. 

With delicate swipes of her lips and gentle flicks of her tongue, Anne lost herself in Ann’s pleasure. She felt her own arousal growing between her legs, but she was determined not to rush. Ann deserved a release as gentle and delicate as she was. Her hips strained against Anne’s hands, but Anne held her in place. She would take her time with this one, let her lips speak her feelings between Ann’s legs, if they wouldn’t speak to Ann’s face. Was Anne  _ in love _ ? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was the heady, intoxicating feeling of Ann’s clit between her lips, her skin in her hands, her soft moans in her ears. 

“Anne, I -” she whined, her hands curling more tightly in Anne’s hair. 

With a low hum, Anne sucked gently on Ann’s clit. Ann cried out, her hips bucking fruitlessly. Anne’s tongue darted out, flicking over the hard bud of Ann’s desire. Crying out in a thin, needy voice, Ann stretched taut, then shuddered. Anne eased her gently through, only pulling away when Ann had released her head. She surfaced, licked her lips, pressed forward to kiss Ann’s chest once more. 

“Holy shit,” Ann breathed, idly threading her fingers through Anne’s hair and scratching the back of her head. “Good Lord, Anne.”

“You’re hot,” she husked, dropping her head to kiss Ann once more; she rolled onto her side, rather spent. 

“So are you.” Ann turned, her hands fumbling over Anne’s belt buckle. “Can I -”

“You don’t have to,” Anne said carefully. 

Ann froze, her eyes searching Anne’s face.

“I want to.”

“I understand.” Anne smiled softly, preparing herself for the inevitable. “But I don’t expect -”

“I  _ want  _ to,” Ann said firmly. “If you don’t want me to, say that.”

“It’s not that, uh,” she hedged.

“Will you let me?” Ann whispered. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Anne answered honestly. “I do.”

A proud grin appeared on Ann’s face, and her hands went back to their work wrenching open Anne’s trousers. She scooted closer, kissing Anne and rolling her gently over.  _ Good Lord _ , Anne thought,  _ when was the last time I found myself on my back? _

“Are you wet for me?” Ann breathed, her voice caught between pride and awe. 

Anne bit her lip, closed her eyes, nodded. It was the truth. The embarrassing, terrifying truth. Ann Walker made her crazy - aroused, yes, but also actually, certifiably crazy. That was the only explanation, really, for what Anne said next.

“Please.”

Ann kissed her again, shifting a bit so that she could straddle one of Anne’s thighs. Her nimble fingers slipped over Anne’s clit once, and Anne jolted. It wouldn’t take long at all.

“You’re so handsome,” Ann whispered in her ear. “You made me come so hard.”

Anne gasped; Ann’s words set her on fire. Who knew this shy little woman could be so intoxicatingly dirty?

“Is this okay?” She asked, pausing for a moment, insecurity creeping into her voice. 

“God, yes,” Anne said, wrapping Ann more tightly in her arms and bringing their lips together. 

After that, it was all fire. Anne’s skin burned with pleasure; electricity skated up her spine and through her veins. As if that dinner wasn’t enough, the shagging on the carpet wasn’t enough, now Ann was going to ruin her entirely. The pads of her fingertips were made to circle and strum Anne’s clit; her lips had been crafted to mold perfectly to Anne’s. All too soon, Anne felt that familiar sensation. Her hips juddered, her body consumed by wave after wave of pleasure. Who in the world taught Ann Walker how to make love?

“Nobody,” Ann whispered as she pulled her hand away and snuggled into Anne’s chest.

“What?” Anne panted; her mind was still cloudy with pleasure and disbelief. 

“Nobody  _ taught _ me how to make love.” Ann kissed her neck. “I’ve never done it before.”

“You’ve never had sex?” Anne sputtered, perhaps a bit too loudly; she sat up, bringing Ann with her. Surely she hadn’t just - had she just taken this girl’s virginity on her grimy old rug?

“I  _ have _ ,” Ann said with a smile; she tucked an errant strand of hair behind Anne’s ear. “I’ve just never thought of it as making love.”

Anne’s lips parted, but no sound came out.  _ Oh _ . She’d - well, she had said that, hadn’t she? Rather overplayed her hand there. Anne looked away, embarrassed, but Ann tugged on her hair. Their eyes met again, and Anne’s chagrin washed away. Perhaps she was, in fact, falling in love for the shy Walker girl. Perhaps that wasn’t so terrifying after all. 

Anne kissed her again and leaned back, pulling Ann with her. The fire crackled, on the verge of dying, but Anne didn’t care. She curled one arm around Ann’s back, pulling the small woman into her side. Surely those golden curls were meant to tickle Anne’s nose, those pale arms were created to circle Anne’s waist, and those short little legs were built to tangle with Anne’s. She traced aimless patterns over Ann’s back, relishing the reassuring weight of her, the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin. 

Normally, Anne Lister did not encourage sleepovers. It was Mariana’s rule, primarily, but they enforced it only sparingly. WIth others, though, with the flings and the experiments and the stand-in boredom crushers, Anne did not allow overnight stays. Too messy, too intimate, too many apologies and excuses in the bleak morning light. Not to mention, Anne was a bit embarrassed about the way she slept; Mary always teased her for it - slack-jawed, spread out like a starfish or clutching desperately to Mariana’s waist. It had been years since Anne had let anyone other than Mary fall asleep in her arms, months since even she’d had that. 

It wasn’t clear, then, how she ended up drooling on the thin rug in her living room, with Ann Walker’s slender fingers tracing over her jawline. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year’s Day treat!!
> 
> What a year, and aren’t we glad to leave it behind? 
> 
> Just one more chapter...


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends! Just a little warning for the bit ahead—if “daddy” as dirty talk isn’t really your thing, pretend the chapter ends after the first set of asterisks.

_One Year Later_

Ann added one last ornament to the tree and stepped back to admire her handiwork. This Christmas tree was the first of a series of changes she would make to the diner in the next few months of her ownership. She loved her father, and held tightly to her memories of him, but she finally tossed the dusty old fake tree—its lower branches bent out of shape by the cat years ago—in the bin. They were a cozy family restaurant, and she wanted to keep it that way, but that didn’t mean everything had to be run-down and shabby.

This tree was one of the more modest specimens Anne offered to her on the Shibden estate. One side was a little sparse, and the trunk oozed with sap, but the scent of pine flourished in the restaurant, mixing with syrup and butter, and the sizzle and pop of bacon in the kitchens. It was real and vibrant, a perfect match to the atmosphere of the diner. Anne felled it early that morning with ease and a little laughter, then carried it inside for Ann to do her half of the work.

One benefit of having sole ownership of the restaurant was being able to do whatever she wanted without consulting her sister. Elizabeth was wonderful, and certainly did nothing wrong, but she was always a bit traditional—the restaurant hardly changed since their parents passed. Not that that was a bad thing, but, well—Ann had always been a bit of a rebel.

Glittery new baby-pink tinsel mixed with the worn gold beads her family always used. Sparkling pink and white ornaments framed their mismatched family relics. Candy canes with pouches of chocolate attached peppered the entire thing, little gifts for the children that visited with their families after church. A brilliant gold star perched on the top of the tree, reflecting the twinkling white lights weaving throughout, each flash of bright light exacerbating the ridges of new gold paint overlapping old. It was perfect.

The doorbell jingled, announcing the arrival of Anne’s little family for their weekly breakfast. Ann greeted Marian, Captain Lister, and Aunt Anne with a smile, then led them to their table. She passed out menus—though the elder Listers hardly needed them—and set out a pot of coffee. Marian bit her lip, staring at the menu, while Captain Lister poured his cup and Aunt Anne closed her eyes, already dozing off.

“Is Anne coming?” Marian asked abruptly.

“Um, I don’t know—she dropped off the tree this morning, then said she’d see me later,” Ann said. “I don’t know if she meant after work, or—”

“The least she can do is tell us whether or not she’s coming to breakfast,” Captain Lister grumbled.

“This is why I set up the family group chat!” Marian groaned. “It’s so easy to just tell us where you are—one little text, and we wouldn’t have to fret and bother her. I say we just start without her, then she’ll learn.”

Ann played with the engagement ring on her finger, smiling shyly. She loved the contrast between strong, aloof Anne, and her family that fussed over every little thing. Anne could disappear for months without a word goodbye and be annoyed that her family worried over and missed her. Their anxiety-laden affection made Anne dutiful, and they were dependent on her strong character. It was a balance.

“There she is. See? Just a little late. She’s so busy,” Aunt Anne said, pointing out the window. “We ought to count ourselves lucky she has any time to spend with us at all.”

“’Lucky’ is one word,” Marian said under her breath, glaring in Anne’s general direction.

Moments later, Anne burst through the doorway, turning on the heel of her boot to face the table. Ann grinned up at her, and was rewarded with a chaste kiss to the forehead before her fiancée addressed her family.

“Hi, hello, I’m here. I heard Marian blathering through the glass, I figured I’d run in and save your ears from aching,” Anne quipped, wrapping her arm around Ann’s waist.

Marian rolled her eyes. Ann, who usually stood up for her future sister-in-law in this situation, instead melted into Anne’s touch. The cold canvas on her cheek contrasted with Anne’s warm hand. She was so lovely and warm, and the season so joyful, she never wanted this moment to end.

Anne kissed her again, gently, on the cheek. Ann hummed. Glittering snow outside, Anne’s tender kisses, and the controlled chaos of the diner always reminded her of when they first met. The only difference now was the engagement ring on her finger and the slightly-pinker Christmas tree in the corner.

Ann gasped. “Did you see our tree? It’s all finished!”

Anne hugged her tightly round the waist, and they turned together to have a look. Ann looked at Anne while she stared at the tree, her lips slightly parted. 

“No one would doubt that Ann Walker decorated this tree,” Anne teased.

“I needed to make your hard work this morning worthwhile,” Ann said, smiling playfully.

“Mmm, I’m sure you will, sweetheart,” Anne said. Ann adored the pink blush spreading across her lover’s cheeks. “But, I’m afraid, I have to go back to work. I need to get the next order delivered at eleven.”

Ann didn’t want her to go. When they first started seeing each other, it was nearly impossible to separate, to be living, functional, breathing adults. Working with her fiancée in the room took unparalleled control. Enveloped by the holiday spirit, however, threw all of that out the window. Ann wanted that cute, determined lumberjack to cut her in half with those hands, sooner rather than later.

“Let me walk you to your truck?” Ann asked brightly. A plan formed even as Anne nodded yes.

***

Ann Walker was more mischievous than anyone on God’s green Earth gave her credit for. She was also needlessly and mercilessly cruel, especially when she wanted to be. Anne was utterly helpless, wrapped around her finger, and Ann’s very favorite person to torture. Her hand drawing slow circles on the inside of Anne’s thigh was more of a bad sign than a good one—at least, until tonight, when she could pay the girl back tenfold.

“Thanks for dropping off the tree earlier, daddy,” Ann purred in her ear. “It’s fitting that you brought one with such a big, girthy trunk. I loved wrapping my hands around it, and doing whatever I wanted with it.”

“Lord, Ann, I still have to _work_ ,” Anne scolded, willing the blush to fade from her cheeks. “And ‘trunk’ doesn’t work in that situation like you think it does.”

Thank God they were still in her truck. There was something about “daddy” that got her going—the safety of it, the warmth of it, the masculinity of it, and something about it that charged her with Ann’s well-being, but left her helpless to what the girl desired all at once. She ached to hear it, especially in Ann’s small, pleading voice, like a command only she could fulfill. 

“Hang on, I know there’s something I can do with ‘sap’ here,” Ann said, breaking character. After a few seconds, a shit-eating grin covered her face, and she added, “Please don’t shower when you get home, daddy, let me lick all that sap off your—”

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Anne groaned. “You’re an unbelievable tease. You’re cruel.”

“So do something about it. Right here, right now,” Ann dared, correctly calling out her cowardice.

“I—we—we are _in the parking lot_ of your _business_ , with only a car door and thin wall away from _my family_ ,” Anne hissed, mortified at the thought.

“And?”

“ _And_ —you are so beautiful, and you drive me absolutely mad,” Anne said. “I’m going to have to use the railing going back up to my office, you have me so clumsy with the thought of you.”

“’Railing.’ Hmm. There’s something I could do with that, too,” Ann threatened cheekily.

If Ann got her imagination rolling on _that_ , Anne would die and her ghost would consume her body. A murmured phrase, a suggestion of motion, even the briefest groan from the girl would send her hurtling into a void from which she could not return.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Anne croaked.

“So you don’t want to know how this all affects me, then? Having you reject me,” Ann pouted.

Anne could imagine, but yes, she wanted to know. Ann enjoyed the game of teasing her, but she wasn’t immune. She couldn’t be. No, not with whatever went on in her brain to make her say—

“Absolutely not,” Anne answered stiffly. “Not if you expect either of us to go back to work.”

One of them had to be responsible, but, lord, how Ann made her want to be a teenager again. Ann bit her lip, grinning brightly. In the long pause between Anne’s challenge and her answer, Anne knew she yearned to say yes. But the reality of daily life set in for both of them. The warmth flourishing between her legs would have to wait to be satisfied.

Ann let out a low, needy whine. “Daddy, I just want you to fill me up with your _big_ ,” —Ann flicked her eyes up to Anne’s—“ _thick_ ,”—she bit her lip, and Anne kissed the hot, wet sliver of flesh. She heard “cock” before Ann said it, and her chest already flushed with—“ _trunk_.”

Anne pulled away immediately, clearing her throat.

“Okay, back to work with you,” she said.

“Are you sure? My ornaments could decorate your—“

“ _Quite_ sure, my love. Later tonight, after work, we’re going to revisit this,” Anne said, strained. She all but pushed Ann out of the truck.

***

She was late. Oh, fuck, she was late. Impossibly, ridiculously late. Anne slammed the door to her office shut and flew down the stairs. Oh, Ann would kill her for this. She’d promised, hadn’t she? Shit. Anne had promised she’d be home early.

Honestly, in a way it was Ann’s fault. If she hadn’t said that bit about the _railing_ , the thing about the _sap_ —Anne’s core clenched—then the bit about the _trunk_. She chuckled and shook her head. If she hadn’t been thinking about Ann’s delicate hand on her trunk, perhaps she wouldn’t be so late.

Late deliveries and crossed wires and sullen customers—wasn’t that always the way? Especially this time of year. It was a wonder Anne ever left work at all, to be honest. But these days, she found herself daydreaming, lost in the memory of Ann’s pale arms and the warmth of her lips. 

She tumbled out of her truck and up the few stairs of the porch. The lights were off downstairs—never a good sign. Ann usually waited until Anne got home, clung to her arm as she closed up the house, squeezed her ass in a futile attempt to spur her faster. Anne bit her lip as she climbed the stairs to her loft bedroom—perhaps Ann had gone to her own house after all. It was too early, their relationship too blissful—Anne couldn’t risk cocking it up like this.

“Darling?” A soft voice called from the warm, golden light of Anne’s room; Anne exhaled, saying a silent prayer of thanks. “I thought you might’ve forgotten me.”

“Never,” Anne said earnestly as her tiny fiancée padded up to her, small fingers already working over the buttons of her flannel. “I missed you.”

Ann hummed, tilting her chin upward; Anne leaned down to kiss her gently. Her hands wrapped around Ann’s hips, bunching up the thin cotton of Ann’s nightgown. Ann rolled her hips into Anne’s, pulling her by the collar into the bedroom.

“I see you missed me,” Anne purred, sliding one hand beneath the hem of Ann’s sleep shirt. 

“I did, daddy,” Ann whined as she sat on the bed and flicked the buttons of Anne’s shirt open. “I need you.”

Anne could only hum, mesmerized by the flash of Ann’s fingers over her belt buckle. She cradled Ann’s face in her hands, studying her; Ann looked up coyly. Framed by a thicket of flaxen hair, her eyes were the bright, faded blue of a warm summer sky. Gorgeous. Her lips were something else entirely, the worn-out pink of a desert rose, full and parted, begging for a kiss. When Anne bent her head to kiss her, Ann leaned back with a laugh.

“Get those off, Pony, then you can kiss me.”

Laughing and failing to fight off a blush, Anne shucked her shirt and trousers. This “Pony” thing was new, but Anne was developing a Pavlovian response to it. She stripped off her underwear just in time to see Ann Walker’s divine body revealed and spread before her.

“Holy shit.”

Ann giggled, covering her face with one hand and reaching for Anne with the other. Slowly, Anne crawled between her legs, planted her hands on either side of her head, and kissed her. Hard. As always, they melted into each other. Anne had never met a woman who matched her so perfectly, who fit so well in her arms. With a low hum, Anne started her trek south.

Delicate lips gave way to that sharp chin, then that intoxicating neck and dangerously sharp collar bones. Ann’s breasts were—they defied definition. Anne’s brain ceased to function around them, much less when she had the pleasure of taking each between her lips and teeth. Her synapses really and truly short-circuited as Ann wove her slender fingers through Anne’s hair and gently tugged.

“Adney,” she groaned, slipping lower.

“I need you, Daddy,” Ann whined; by the tone of her voice, Anne knew this was no tease.

Anne kissed her soft belly, the perfect arc of her hips, then lower, along that golden dusting of hair and between her thighs. Ann moaned at the first swipe to her clit, whined at the pressure of Anne’s lips, then gasped at the graze of her teeth.

“Fuck, Daddy, I—”

Anne nipped her inner thigh playfully.

“Quiet, my love,” she said softly. “Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors again.”

Ann chuckled, breathless and shaking her head against the pillow. There were no neighbors, no one around for miles, but Anne needed her own bit of teasing. Sometimes she liked to challenge Ann to stay quiet; other times she let Ann scream until she was hoarse.

Tonight, Anne was only teasing. She actually yearned for Ann’s cries, her gasps, her breathlessly mumbled curses. Anne took her hips in her hands, inhaled once, and devoured her.

“Oh, Daddy, fuck,” Ann breathed, her voice impossibly high. “Right, th—oh, I—fuck, Daddy, can—please, D-Daddy, ple—”

On this final word, Ann contorted, curling upward as her words turned into a choked cry. Anne eased her back to earth slowly, lapping gently along her center until Ann released her tight hold on Anne’s head. WIth a parting kiss to Ann’s still-sensitive clit, Anne surfaced, nearly as breathless as her fiancée, who was now, inexplicably, laughing.

“What?” Anne demanded as she lurched forward to rest her head between Ann’s breasts.

“You’re so smug,” Ann said happily, absentmindedly trailing her fingers through Anne’s hair. “You always look like you’ve won a medal or something.”

“I have,” Anne said softly, pressing her lips to Ann’s slick skin. “You’re the greatest prize I’ve ever won.”

“Sap,” Ann teased, then waggled her eyebrows.

“Don’t start with that!” Anne laughed and sat up, catching Ann’s lips again. “I’ve been wet for you all day.”

“Have you?” 

Ann reached forward, and for a blissful moment, Anne thought she meant to slide between her legs. Instead, of course, Ann only squeezed her ass. Anne didn’t—well, _of course_ she didn’t squeal. That was something Anne Lister would never do. At least, not where anyone other than Ann Walker could hear.

“Get your cock, Daddy,” Ann whispered. “And fuck me.”

That time, Anne could admit, she did squeal.

Fumbling hands and ridiculous _fucking_ buckles—did it always take this long? Anne couldn’t get the bloody thing on fast enough. Not with Ann’s words reverberating in her ears, pulsing between her legs, and widening the disconnect between her brain and her hands. By the time she climbed back into the bed, she was nearly shaking. When had she last wanted someone this much? 

(Ann, this morning, with her golden hair spilled over Anne’s pillow. And on Saturday, when Ann had hopped up on the counter, and Anne saw the flash of her cute little ass. Maybe last Wednesday, too, that night that Ann sat in her lap and did that thing with her hips that made Anne drool at work the next day thinking about it.)

“Come here,” Ann said softly, wrapping her arms around Anne’s shoulders and slipping her tongue between Anne’s lips.

They came together slowly, the strap moving heavily between them. Anne angled her head, needing to consume Ann, flesh and soul; her lips found the sharp line of her fiancée’s jaw, the underside of her chin, the warm beat of her pulse point. Ann nipped at her earlobe. 

“Daddy, I need you,” she panted; Anne moaned softly against her skin. “I need you to fill me up.” She rolled her hips upward and pulled Anne closer. Anne thought she saw a smile curl her lips. “With your big trunk.”

Anne froze, eyes wide and lips parted as she looked at her delicious, devilish little woman. A beat of silence, and then their bodies shook with laughter. Loud, wild guffaws. Ann pulled her closer, her giggles traveling straight from Anne’s ear to the fragile, glued-together corners of her heart. Anne kissed her once more, both of them still laughing. What bliss, Anne thought as she sank into the embrace, to be this deeply in love. To laugh, naked, with the woman who’d been made specifically for her. After a moment, their laughter subsided, and Anne sat back on her heels, shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes. 

“I’m a bit embarrassed to admit it, but, uh.” She looked at Ann for an instant, then had to look away. “That did work for me.”

Ann laughed again, her eyes dancing with mischief and her hand toying along the length of Anne’s cock. Anne rolled her hips ever so slightly; she’d never seen Ann’s eyes quite that wide. The time for teasing, it seemed, had ended once again.

“Turn over,” Anne said softly, biting back a grin as her fiancée scrambled to comply. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Daddy, please,” Ann breathed, her hips already pressing upward, begging. 

Anne dragged her hand along the cleft of Ann’s ass, over the backs of her thighs, then between her legs. She moaned at the pool of arousal that met her; her fingertips traced over Ann’s clit, just for a moment, just because she couldn’t help herself. On the bed in front of her, Ann’s knuckles turned white. 

“Drawer,” Anne said softly; arousal raced through her veins as she watched Ann crawl to her nightstand and produce their bottle of lubricant. Anne coated her cock liberally as Ann returned to her knees. “Such a good girl.”

Ann keened.

“You need me?” 

A nod, a soft whine, a backward press of the hips.

“Of course, baby.” Anne pressed slowly forward, gently slipping between Ann’s soaked thighs. “You feel so good.”

They moaned in unison as Anne’s hips met the delicious curves of Ann’s. For a moment, neither of them moved. Anne squeezed her fiancée’s hips, a silent question; she watched Ann nod against the sheets. Slowly, almost too slowly, Anne pulled back; Ann hissed at the loss of her. Just as slowly, she pressed forward; Ann choked on her moan. Anne wasn’t sure how long she could survive like this.

“Daddy,” Ann breathed, her voice caught between a whine and a whisper. “Please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

With that, Anne spanked her once, relishing the high-pitched noise that spilled from Ann’s lips. Another spank, another intoxicating sound. Anne wondered if she could come from sound alone. Before she could find out, Ann took matters into her own hands, pushing back against Anne’s hips, starting a deep, deliberate rhythm of her own. Anne matched her, speeding up incrementally, until she was rutting into her. Their skin slapped together as Anne filled her fiancée over and over again. Ann’s cries grew louder with every thrust, her hips more insistent. Anne wanted to live in this moment, to curl up in the warmth of Ann’s skin, make a home in the safe cocoon of her cries. 

This harshness, this pleasure—it was undergirded by tenderness. The way Anne’s hands curled around Ann’s hips, never leaving a bruise. The way Ann set their pace; the way she looped her arm through Anne’s when they walked together. The way Anne protected her; the way she drove her truck more carefully when Ann sat in the passenger seat. Their lovemaking was rough, but their love was not. Perhaps that, after all, was why the filthy sounds of their bodies were augmented by breathless declarations.

“I love you,” as Anne pumped her hips forward.

“You’re so good,” as Ann’s shaky hand found her own clit.

“You’re mine,” as Anne’s hand fell crisply over Ann’s behind.

“I love you,” as Ann shuddered into the warm waters of her release. 

Anne slowed her thrusts, gently easing every drop of pleasure from her fiancée, until she fell into a sweaty heap before her. Gently, Anne untangled herself and tossed the harness to the side, to be dealt with later. She laid on her side next to Ann’s heaving body, traced a hand along her spine, smiled softly at the euphoric, angelic look on her face. How could Ann make such debauchery look holy?

“I love you,” Ann murmured, eyes still closed. 

“I love _you_.” 

“You’re so good at that.” Ann’s eyes drifted open, one hand reaching lazily for Anne’s.

“ _You_ are.”

“Stop copying me.”

“Stop copying _me_.”

Ann squeezed her hand and laughed, rolling over to face her. Anne’s chest ached—did love always feel this way? Anne was certain it did not. There was no way any two people had ever been so happy as them. They’d invented this, she and Ann. No one else on earth, in history, ever, had loved like they did. She fought the urge to climb onto the rooftop and shout about it.

“You’re so handsome,” Ann said softly, slipping her leg between Anne’s. “You make me feel so good.” 

Anne hummed, her eyes drifting closed as Ann’s nimble fingertips found her clit. Unlike any woman in her past, Ann understood Anne’s body. What she liked, what she wanted, what she _craved_. An arm around Anne’s shoulders, a gentle finger along her spine, warm breath along her neck—the delicacy and intimacy that Anne needed but was too shy to ask for. Even from that first night in front of the fireplace, Ann had known. Anne moaned and did the unthinkable—she rolled onto her back.

“That’s my Pony,” Ann whispered, leaving a trail of wet kisses along Anne’s jaw. “You’re so wet for me.”

“Yes.” Barely more than a breath.

“You feel so good, darling.” Ann dragged her tongue along the length of Anne’s neck. “You made me come so hard.”

Anne whined, rolling her hips up into Ann’s teasing hand. Yet again, Ann knew what she needed, strumming Anne’s clit harder. Flame licked at the base of Anne’s spine; release coiled in her gut. She swallowed her cries—that old habit of staying quiet, sneaking around, other men’s wives. Ann kissed her fiercely, then bit her bottom lip. Hard.

“Not here,” Ann said seriously. “You be as loud as you want in our bed.”

There was no coming back after that.

Anne’s trembling subsided as Ann kissed the ticklish spot behind her ear. She went limp, barely enough brain cells functioning to wrap one exhausted arm around Ann’s back. One small hand played over her clavicle, and they sighed in unison. 

“I love you,” Ann said sleepily.

“I love you.” Anne kissed the top of her head, cracking one eye open to check the clock. Past midnight. “D’you know what else?”

“Hm?”

“Merry Christmas, darling.” Ann propped herself up to meet Anne’s gaze, her broad smile mirroring Ann’s own. “Happy anniversary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! We had a lot of fun writing this one together, and appreciated your excitement and kindness along the way. (You even squeezed a few more chapters out of us, lol!) Thanks for spending time with us for this one. Stay safe and enjoy 2021! <3


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